


all good things (come to an end)

by woodyinho



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-02
Updated: 2014-01-02
Packaged: 2018-01-07 04:00:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 32,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1115237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/woodyinho/pseuds/woodyinho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things change. And friends leave. Life doesn’t stop for anybody. And Marco learns it the hard way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	all good things (come to an end)

**Author's Note:**

> HEY THEEEEERE BIRTHDAY GIRL. 
> 
> so i know you've been waiting la suite de The finish line mais, well, j'ai été plus inspirée par les deux abrutis d'allemands pas fichus de prendre une photo ensemble quand ils se trouvent au même endroit. techniquement, je t'ai écrit deux trucs pour ton anniversaire mais j'ai pas eu le temps de terminer le second considérant que j'ai été busy ces derniers jours &qu'évidemment, je comptais tout faire au dernier moment. c'est aussi le cas de cette histoire qui, honnêtement, n'a pas vraiment de sens &qui du coup n'a pas été corrigée/relue ou quoi que ce soit. j'ai peur d'avance :( 
> 
> mais bon, you deserve it. à la base, d'ailleurs, c'était ton cadeau de motivation pour le bac, i don't know if you remember. je l'avais pratiquement terminé &non, il a fallu que je change la moitié de l'histoire deux jours avant. puis je l'ai abandonné pendant des mois. the fuck is my life. ça me fait penser que, because of it, je ne t'ai jamais félicité pour ton bac so, FELICITATIONS, BONNE ANNEE, &JOYEUX ANNIVERSAIRE. 
> 
> bref, l'idée de départ c'était juste d'écrire la scène où Mario annonce à Marco qu'il quitte Dortmund. puis au fur &à mesure j'ai écrit qlqs scènes ici par là &au final j'ai voulu les intégrer, ce qui fait que j'ai galéré à trouver une suite logique à tous ces morceaux &i have no idea what the result looks like but hey, tant que tu enjoy certaines scènes c'est déjà ça. puis ça va, j'ai pas du tout abusé sur la longueur du truc(a) je te recommande de le lire en plusieurs fois si tu veux pas être sick de mon écriture/de l'histoire au bout de 15mn :( 
> 
> BREF I TALK TOO MUCH. but it just doesn't feel right to give you this thing after months, like, it should be perfect at this point. au lieu de ça, je vais le relire ce soir &me dire "oh putaaaain, j'aurai du faire ça comme ça!". avec un peu de chance, tu ne l'auras pas encore lu &je pourrais en profiter muhahaha. 
> 
> ah &l'anglais tiens :( bon ça doit être bourré de fautes, parfois j'ai même modifié des expressions à ma guise, parfois j'en ai même /inventé/ je crois. il doit y avoir plein de fautes stupides mais tu nous connais, ma flemme &moi, plein d'erreurs &d'inventions mais bon, tant que tu comprends je suppose que c'est okay. jspr juste qu'il y en a pas trop. ça m'apprendra à écrire en anglais aussi.
> 
> at the beginning (EN AOUT) j'avais posté l'histoire sur livejournal &j'avais joint cela http://www.twitlonger.com/show/n_1rlm5ns since you asked me the first time. bon d'autres chansons se sont rajoutées entre temps du coups mais c'est déjà ça.
> 
> breeef (deuxième édition), je te laisse tranquille &te laisse à ta lecture. en espérant que ça aie du sens &que ça te plaise à peu près, BONNE LECTURE &VIVE TOI<3

***

_“Welcomeee, Marco.”_

_Mario’s voice sounded so bright and so playful that, even though the bastard was throwing a ball at him, Marco could not help but smile. “Or welcome back, should I say.”_

_“Oh, I just spent ten years of my life here, you know, no big deal,” Marco bantered about casually, avoiding the younger boy’s second shoot. “I still love Mönchengladbach more than I love you.”_

_Mario laughed so heartily that the sun seemed to shine brighter after that. “Yeah, of course. You shouldn’t lie to yourself that much, Reus, it doesn’t do any good. I’m the love of your life, the sun of your nights.”_

_“Studying poetry lately?” he queried, curving an eyebrow._

_Smiling widely, he shook his head. “You should be aware that I don’t need to study anything since I’m naturally skilled. But whatever, be sarcastic as you want, woody. You’ll never want to leave me now that you’re here.”_

***

 

Four days after his departure to Dortmund, Havard posted this sentence on his twitter: _Things change. And friends leave. Life doesn’t stop for anybody._

In complete honesty, leaving Gladbach had been arduous—much more than he had expected actually—thus coming back to Dortmund had not felt like home straightaway even though he had not felt _that_ unfamiliar and awkward either. It had mostly been disturbing because, funnily enough, he had become much more attached to Mönchengladbach, to the fans, to the stadium, to the jerseys, to the players, than he had thought he would. So it had been disturbing, yes, and a tad heartbreaking and he had genuinely missed the guys at first. Especially Havard and Roman. Fortunately, he had already known most of the team there—that was a part of why he could not wait to return—and Klopp had probably been the nicest person he has ever met so he had not been worried. It had been different and sidetracking but not frightening like it had been when he had stepped into Mönchengladbach’s stadium for the first time. Dortmund’s supporters had been great, Dortmund’s players had been great and Dortmund’s staff had been great. He had been back to the club he had worshipped since forever and, simply, Dortmund had been great.

To top it all, he had then been able to realize the thing he had most looked forward to do at Dortmund. Namely, playing alongside Mario.  

 

***

 

It had been a pretty busy season but one of the moments he would always remember was his first game under Dortmund’s colors as first line. It had been the greatest thing, to hear the topline supporters sing and scream his name, stir and applaud as if he had been one of them for years; to fulfill his childhood dream; to have Mario hugging him tight when they were heading back for the changing room, laughing in his ear “I told you so. We’re going to rock this season, Marco.”

And indeed, it had felt so accurate at this moment, so obvious and—

—and so perfect that, despite what happened at the end of the season, Marco still could not feel bitter about it.  

 

***

 

His friendship with Mario was far from new, though. There had always been something special, unexplainable, about how easily they had hit it off the very first time they had encountered four years ago. It had almost been magical—or at least that was how André had described it—how naturally they had got along, how quickly they had become close. But if Mario had been one of the persons he had loved most way before his move to Dortmund, his arrival at the club had deepened their friendship so much that, even to them, it had felt unreal, sometimes, how on the same wavelength they could be. All the time. They had fit together perfectly, like magnets attracted to each other, like they were meant to be. Perhaps there were no logical reasons to to this naturalness and this easiness to be that comfortable around each other so instinctively. It was perhaps just alchemy and yet, another thing Marco is certain the team will never forget about this season, is his relationship with Mario—on as much as off the pitch.     

 

***

               

So yeah, being eventually able to see Mario each day had been the highlight of his transfer because, no matter how many times they had fallen asleep texting each other, nothing would compare to pillowtalks and soft smiles exchanged right before drifting off to sleep. And even today, Marco just loved how easy it was to be with him. How Mario was quite a different person when it was only the two of them—more smiling, more insouciant, more easy-going. Just _happier_. Mario trusted him. Like trust _trust_ and it had made all the difference. Marco knew how difficult it was for him to actually rely on someone, how difficult it was to just let someone get through his defenses and, sometimes, really, he was genuinely astonished by the fact that nobody had noticed how on the defensive Mario could be. Certainly, he hid it well but at times it was just so obvious that he did not understand. Then again, most people merely saw him as grown up adolescent—not particularly smart or having been through a lot but skilled and cheerful—and that was enough for them.

Another thing he just loved about Mario, about them, was how honest they could be towards each other. There was literally nothing that they could not tell to the other. It did not ever matter if they had not intended to reveal it, besides, because they just had to look at each other to know. It was just instinctive. It was all about trust. No judgments, but understanding. So Mario listened when Marco told him about his affair with Havard last season and how complicated it got and Marco listened when Mario confessed to him how his heart had been broken on a sunny afternoon where Nuri and he had given blowjobs to each other before lying around lazily in bed, Nuri settled down on Mario’s laps.  

 

***

               

_“Stop kissing me. I’m busy.”_

_Not concerned in the least, Nuri kept pressing along his jaw wet, playful kisses, palms stroking his tights. He only deigned to stop when Mario began to moan a little louder. “You liked it, few minutes ago,” he pointed out with a mocking smile, lips lounging about his neck softly. “And busy doing what, anyway?”_

_“That’s not the point,” Mario laughed lightly. “Didn’t you have something to say to me, by the way?”_

_Nuri nibbled his earlobe quickly before wriggling to straighten a bit. He smiled and looked straight in Mario’s eyes. “Indeed.”_

_The younger boy raised his eyebrows curiously._

_“I’m leaving.”_

_A slight smile cracked its way across Mario’s mouth. “That early? Though you’d want a second round.”_

_Bursting out of laughter, Nuri slammed his body into Mario’s abruptly enough to make him breathless an instant, and kissed his lips hard, thrusting his tongue into his mouth as Mario moaned underneath him. “I’m leaving Dortmund,” he breathed into his mouth, panting._

_Bursting out of laughter, Nuri slammed his body into Mario’s abruptly enough to make him breathless an instant and kissed his lips hard, thrusting his tongue into his mouth. “I’m leaving Dortmund,” he breathed into his mouth, panting._

_“What the—”_

_“Don’t look at me like that, Mario,” he said, laughing and sucking on his lower lip. “Real Madrid wants me. I said yes.”_

_“You—” he started, breathing heavily, but realized he had no idea what to say. Fighting against the sudden urge to throw up, he shook his head. “When?” was all he was able to ask at this point._

_“A few days. Klopp’s going to announce it later. Though you may want to hear it from me first.” He shrugged and punched him playfully in the ribs before making his way across the room to get his clothes back. Astounded and naked in the sheets, Mario kept his eyes riveted on him. “But I’m leaving for good right now as well. Tugba needs help with the boxes and all.”_

_Mario swallowed and Nuri winked at him. “See you later, handsome.”_

 

***             

 

Well, actually, Nuri had broken his heart twice.

 

***

 

_“What about us?”_

_It was the following day after he learned about Nuri’s departure. They were both in the changing room, late for entraining. Well, technically, Nuri was late and Mario was waiting for him—as usual._

_Nuri, who was putting his shoes up, looked at him curiously. “What do you mean?”_

_“You, my, the fucking and all?”_

_The Turkish laughed briefly and got up, coming closer to Mario. “Like you said, handsome. It was just some fucking. Married and father, remember?” he added, waving his ring finger. He laughed again and slapped him in the shoulder. “Come on, we’re going to be late. You don’t want Klopp screaming at us like last time, don’t ya?”_

 

***

 

Mario had not given him all the details about the few months they had spent fucking each other and Marco had not wanted to know. Just, apparently, Mario had started to fall stupidly in love with him not long before his departure and his heart has taken one hell of a blow in losing and his lover and one of his best friends—because that was what he had been before everything else, one of his fucking best friends. Unlike what everyone still believed, though, he had gotten quite quickly over him. He had just missed his friend.

This chapter had thus supposed to be over. And it had, until the rumor of Nuri coming back home during the winter transfer-window had started to spread like wildfire at the beginning of the season. Marco had been excited to meet him again, Mario had been eager like never and had texted him daily, and the rest of the team, surprisingly, had seemed worried about _him_.

Which was something he had not understood at first.

 

***

 

_Considering it was the sunniest day of October for the moment, it was sweltering. The blue sky was completely lacking in clouds and birds were chirping tranquilly. The team had trained with great difficulty under the heat, as dynamic and cheerful as usual though, spraying their bottles of water on themselves every five minutes. That had particularly made Klopp laugh but he had not slowed down for all that. As a result, Moritz and Leo had been even louder than usual (which was a great accomplishment in itself like Santana had pointed out) and they would probably not have been happier if they had won the League when Klopp finally shook his head, fighting down his amusement, and let them go to the changing room._

_Marco, nevertheless, lingered a little bit longer in order to enjoy the heat, the green grass, the field and everything that had made him fall in love even more with this team. He was stretching lazily when Robert approached him from behind and actually tried to frighten him. Which totally failed given how little discreet he was._

_Marco laughed quietly. “Go fuck yourself, Lewandowski,” he said as he tried to hit him._

_The taller boy deflected the punch with a genuine smile and put his arms around his shoulder. “How are you, violent boy?” he enquired, shaking him slightly as Marco elbowed him in the rib._

_“I was fine until you came and ruined everything, thanks. What about you?”_

_Robert burst out laughing, threw him on the grass and climbed on top of him, pretending to strangle him. Laughing heartily, Marco struggled back until he managed to get off him, and straightened a bit, sitting down more cozily. He breathed in deeply in order to get his breath back. Robert did likewise, resting his palms in the grass. “Fine,” he answered eventually, still smiling. “You’re sure everything’s okay though?”_

_Marco wrinkled his nose. “Why wouldn’t I be alright?”_

_His blue eyes squinted because of the sun, Robert observed him lengthily. His gaze seemed so concerned that Marco had to look away, uneasy. His reaction made the striker smiled in a way that showed he had been expecting it. Marco raised his eyebrows inquiringly. “What’s wrong?”_

_“You. You’re not accustomed at people looking at you, right?”_

_“Well, considering my profession, I could hardly complain about that, could I? It would be in bad taste.”_

_“It wasn’t what I was meaning and you know it, Reus, but alright, I’ll leave this personal aspect aside for now. Or I’ll leave Mario deal with it, your choice.” He punched Marco’s leg with his own. “How do you feel about Nuri and Mario’s rapprochement lately?”_

_This is when Marco got it. “Oh,” he murmured, surprised. “I thought you’d be firstly concerned about Mario.”_

_“I am,” he confirmed kindly, eyes almost transparent under the sun, his hands playing with the grass. “But Mario knows what to expect. He has already had his fill of reprimands and speeches, believe me. He’s smart, he’s much more mature. I mean, I don’t know precisely what happened between them but I saw how close they were. Plus, Mario’s reaction to his departure was everything but normal. I don’t think he’ll go back to Nuri but if he does…”_

_He left his sentence suspended in the air, eyes riveted on Marco’s face. This last remained quiet. He knew where Robert was heading, of course. He reckoned Marco was in love with Mario and wanted him to confess it so he could tell him not to worry about Nuri and Mario or something like that._

_Marco considered him. Robert had unexpectedly been the most welcoming guy in the team, had been incredibly friendly towards him. Considering that he was one of the few not to be in the German team, Marco had presumed that he would have been one of the last to get close to when Robert had, in fact, always been the first one to strike up a conversation. Marco really liked him—a lot. He was definitively his best meeting here among those he had not known, but was it enough to tell him something that even André did not suspect?_

_He opened his mouth at the very moment where Robert took the speech again. His voice was silvery. “You don’t have to say it, Marco, don’t worry. It’s not my aim. I don’t even know if everything I think is accurate or no. I just want you to know that…if you need it, I’m here. I’m here and will always be, no matter what you want to talk about. Just know that and don’t hesitate.”_

_Robert’s words touched him so deeply that he had to squeeze his eyes shut tightly this time. He sighed, skin burning under the sun. “Thanks. I—thanks. And anyway, if Mario does come back to him, I’ll just have to deal with it. But right now, I’m fine. As long as I can play, you know, I’ll be fine. That will always be the essential thing for me.”_

_The older boy smiled at him. “Alright then. I’ll be by your side, anyway. Take note.”_

_“Should I call you nanny from now?” he queried, deceptively skeptical._

_“Fuck_ you _, Reus. I guess you’ll like it, though. Having a guy as hot as me as a personal nanny is definitively something you would die for.”_

_“I won’t even answer to that.”_

_“Only because I leave you speechless,” he snapped back, grinning like an idiot and kicking his leg again. Robert laughed when Marco missed to choke. “Anyway,” he added softly,” I don’t think you have anything to be jealous of Nuri.”_

_Marco clicked his tongue. “Which means?”_

_“Which me he hasn’t stopped talking about you since the day he has known there was the slightest possibility that you could come here. Considering that he was already mentioning you half of the time, it speaks volume.”_

_“You’re lying, aren’t you?”_

_Robert tried to punch him and rolled his eyes. “Seriously, Reus. No, I’m not lying. I’ve got sick of you before we even met. You should have seen his smile when he learnt that you’d be in the team next year. It was Christmas in advance, even Mats’ sarcasm and Santana’s threats couldn’t calm him down. Fucking scary, be glad you wasn’t here.”_

_Marco chuckled. “I didn’t know.”_

_“Because he forbade anyone to tell you, actually. He threatened people and all. This boy is a disease for the universe.”_

 

***

               

Marco falls in love with Mario because his smile is the brightest and his eyes the clearest—like spring water in which he could drown. He falls in love with him because he never ceases to amaze him, never ceases to astonish him, never ceases to captivate him. Mario is as uncatchable as the wind and as unstoppable as a mountain. He is spontaneous and beaming, enthralling and gifted, a mix between an impulsive kid and a wise grown man. Marco falls in love with him because there is not one thing that he does not love about him, because there is nothing that he loves more than the sound of his laugh, more than the way his eyes sparkle when it’s just the two of them, more than their skins burning against each other. Marco falls in love with him because it’s just so natural and evidential. 

 

***

               

_“Marco fucking Reus. Wake the fuck up before I slay you.”_

_It was in the full heat of noon and Marco was still comfortably wrapped in his blankets, not in the least concerned about the sunbeams that were coming through the windows of his bedroom. He had fallen asleep in a curious position, head half buried under his pillow, legs withdrawing atypically on themselves now that they were no longer intertwined with Mario’s. They had spent the previous day together, hours of talking, laughing, playing football and tennis and table tennis, hours of facing each other at FIFA and arguing about it after, hours of watching movies and comparing songs. Around three in the morning, though, once they could not handle to tickle each other anymore, they had drifted off to sleep, both chuckling and breathless, Mario’s head resting against Marco’s shoulder._

_Mario—being more annoying than ever according to Marco now that he had become an early riser for god knows why—had opened his eyes around eleven and had waited forbearingly for Marco to do the same._

_Thing was, Marco had not done the same._

_The number 10 had therefore tried to take things in hands but the violent method had come to nought so far. He had punched him and had shaken him vivaciously, he had threatened him to burn his house and his clothes and his phone, to burn his fucking car, to burn_ him _himself, but he had remained as motionless as a statue. The bastard was still sleeping soundly and Mario was going to murder him soon enough._

_He shook his head desperately. “I’m going to steal your gel. And I’ll reveal picture of you when your hair isn’t done. To the world.”_

_Marco’s body slightly shifted under Mario’s hands._

_“Seriously, Reus? Threatening you about your_ hair _what all that it took? You didn’t even protest when I promised you to kidnap your children when you’ll have ones, god. I feel sorry for them. You’re totally going to be the kind of father who forgets them into the car in full middle of summer, aren’t you? I’ve always known you were a monster anyway, deep down. No ways you could have been that cute with such hair, who do you think you are kidding. Perhaps I should call the police. I can perfectly picture you poisoning my food yesterday. I’m sure you did. I should definitively call the police. And is it me or the more I talk, the more you seem to fall asleep again? Eh oh! My voice isn’t a lullaby, fucking Reus. Wake up.”_

_Mario, who was settling half on top of Marco’s body, watched him in silence for a moment. Then he put his hands in the back of his neck, which causes Marco to make an indistinct noise in his throat._

_“I hate you,” he mumbled in a soft, sleepy voice. “I really do.”_

_The number 10 let escape something that curiously sounded like “ihihihihihi”—but could not be that because,_ obviously, _Mario Götze did not_ giggle _—and buried his head in the hollow of Marco’s neck. “I’ll make you breakfast.”_

_His voice was still full of drowsiness but seemed at least a little clearer. “I hate you 5% less.”_

_Mario grinned. “And I swear I’ll never show you-know-what-pictures to anyone,” he whispered softly against his skin as Marco was putting sleepily an arm around his shoulder._

_“Oh. I hate you 20% less.”_

_“Fucking hell, your hair seriously matters as 20% of your life?”_

_Marco sniffed against his pillow and shifted a bit in order to make Mario practically lying on him. “Are you kidding? 20% of our friendship, Götze, 60% of my life.”_

_The younger one scowled at him, leaning over so their foreheads could knock against each other quickly. “Good to know that my awesome personality still counts as 80% of our friendship. Luckily I’m here to raise the level. Nah, don’t say anything,” he added as soon as Marco began to mutter softly about something. “I can already tell you that it won’t help your case at all, and I’m not sure about killing you yet. I mean, with whom am I going to spend the day if you’re useless? Nonetheless, I guess you won’t mind if I intend to prevent every girlfriend you’ll get from now on that you’d probably end up by murdering the children you could have together. Just so they know, you know, we can’t let them defenseless against you. It wouldn’t be fair. Speaking of which, remind me to check on yesterday’s food as well. Don’t take it personally, Reus, I’m just heart broken by what you said and God knows what you could have done worst. And fucking Marco woodyinho Reus, don’t dare to fall asleep again or I beat you to death with that lamp.”_

_“Nah, you won’t. You said it yourself. Your day is going to be boring without me. Plus, I’ll hide the keys before thus you wouldn’t be able to leave my house for hours. And when someone would pick you up, they’d discover what you have done.”_

_Mario put a kiss on his shoulder blade. “I see.”_

_“I want slices of bread and butter for breakfast, by the way. And a coffee. Or a hot chocolate, I’m not sure. Surprise me.” He twisted his lips pensively. “Pieces of bread with a good amount of butter on it, of course.”_

_“I’m noting. How much blood with your death?”_

_He opened one eye and peeked down. “Your choice. Not too much if you don’t want to spend hours at washing the sheets.”_

_As Marco clicked his tongue and looked for his phone under the sheets, Mario could not repress his chuckle. He sighed, straightened up a bit and watched Marco with a smile playing on his lips. “Okay. You go to shower, I make breakfast. Now.”_

_Marco yawned his head off. “You’re the best best friend in the whole world. When you don’t wake me up.”_

_“Tell it to me again when I’ll take care of your kids when you’ll be in jail. And offer me something in pay back, thank you. But yeah, I know, I’m kind of amazing. Doesn’t mean I’m not going to burn your eggs though.”_

_“When did I ask for eggs?”_

_“When did I say I was going to follow your orders? Come on, Marco, I would have expected better from you. I’m the king. We eat what I want to eat. If you disagree, you’ll be eaten as well.”_

_And Marco burst out laughing, still wrapped in the softness of his blankets. “And after that I’m the psychopath, right. Hurry to make breakfast, slave.”_

 

***

               

Marco falls in love with Mario because there is no one else in the world able to make him feel like he does. Because, much more than the perfection of his smile and his laugh and his eyes, Mario makes him better. He makes him feel invincible and special. He makes him feel worth of the world, makes him feel like the whole universe is theirs. He makes him want to try harder—do better—be stronger—aim wider. It’s more than falling in love, in the end. He loves him. He loves him like he had never loved anyone before and there is no one else in the world whose he wants to take care of _that much_ , whose he is so close mentally speaking that it actually feels like they are at _one_.

And he knows that what they share is unique. They laugh and look at each other for hours and being together feels like happiness. Mario is his best friend, his brother, and his lover. He is his center of gravity—is his anchor—is his better half, and, really, loving him from the bottom of his heart is the better thing that has ever happened in his life.

 

***

               

_“A fan asked me when we intended to get married, today.”_

_It was late in the night and most players of the team were gathered at Kevin’s place. Even though their next game was only in three days, the downpour that was bringing down outside the walls had curbed their enthusiasm to go out. Therefore, Santana was facing Bender at some singing game, making a speech as he was winning—signing it for Mats who had wished him the heaviest defeat in the world. Moritz and Leo were dancing around them, screaming lyrics over Santana’s and Bender’s voices, spilling bear on Ilkay’s head. Four of them were on the balcony, freezing to death but contemplating the landscape while talking loudly. Marco, Mario and Kevin were settled cozily on the sofa, observing the carnage._

_Mario curved an eyebrow mischievously. “And what did you answer?”_

_“That I was already committed to André?”_

_“Ouch.”_

_“We didn’t ask for your opinion, Großkreutz,” Mario retorted, overriding Marco’s and Kevin’s laughs. “As for you, Reus, stop being in denial. We all know that André likes me better. Everybody likes me better.”_

_“Nah, I like Marco better personally.”_

_“We didn’t ask for your opinion, Großkreutz, round two. You’ll have the right to speak when you’ll introduce your new confidential girlfriend to us. Meanwhile, shut up and cease to perturb my speech. The world loves Mario Götze better than Marco Reus. We can’t blame people for being smart, though.”_

_“He shocks me,” Kevin commented, completely ignoring Mario and looking at Marco. “I mean, a fan could ask you what your favorite color is that he would still find a way to bring it back to his supposed perfection. Shocking, seriously.”_

_“_ Großkreutz, _why are you_ talking _?"_

_“How can you stand him?” Kevin queried, pressing his freshly-taken-out-of-the-fridge-bear against Mario’s forearm._

_“I’m not sure I’ve got the choice.”_

_“Oh, mean as is he, he has threatened you, right? Holding you captive, making you learn some vows so you could never leave his side. He always had the profile of a psychopath anyway, I’m not even surprised.”_

_Marco laughed quietly. “Nah, there’s just a part of me linked to him.”_

_“Reus, fucking hell, what’s wrong with you? Being all adorable when I was bringing him down. I can’t even fight against that, seriously, it was adorable. Ugh, I hate you so much.”_

_“Kevin,_ shut up _, you’re ruining the moment. Marco’s definitively the best in the world.”_

_Mario stood up, pretended to stumble in order to drop few chips on Kevin, and ensconced next to Marco, pressing a kiss against his shoulder. Kevin rolled his eyes. “Go awa from here, you two. Edward, take your Bella to the guest room and try to make little Renesmee, alright.”_

_“What the_ fuck _—” Marco began but Mario just pressed another kiss._

_“Don’t listen to him,” he sighed, “I think he watched too many romantic movies with his mysterious girlfriend. We shouldn’t stay with him, indeed.” He took Marco’s hand and pulled him up at the same moment where Sebastian seemed to have broken something. “We take your room, nonetheless, Großkreutz.”_

_“No way, no fucking way, Götze stay the fuck where you are. HEY YOU TWO!”_

 

***

              

Marco falls in love with him and it feels like falling in love with the sun. It makes him feel alive. It makes his soul twists and it makes his heart stops _and_ beats faster simultaneously and it makes his blood boils but more than that, it feels like putting together the last pieces of a puzzle. Mario is completing him—is matching him—is sinking into his skin. He is making him whole, like _completely_ , and it’s something he had never thought was possible. He falls in love with him and it’s overwhelming and overpowering, so much that sometimes he is not sure about how he managed to live without him previously. And it’s frightening, somehow, to love someone this deep, because he does not think he could ever breathe again if he loses him—does not know if he’s still able to function without him—but what he feels is so stunning and so breathtaking that he cannot be wrong. It’s too stunning and beautiful to be tamed.      

This love is exactly like Mario, strong and dazzling, and Marco loves him and, honestly, he does not know how he could not have.

 

***

               

_“You’ve got one new voicemail, at 12h30, the October 13, 2012.”_

_“Yo, woodyinho! I would like to ask you how you’re doing but, AS USUAL, you didn’t pick up your phone. You know what, I’m starting to get suspicious. Strangely enough, you always got your phone on you when we’re together and_ though _, it’s like you’re constantly away from it when_ I’m _the one calling. Admit it’s kinda odd. You can’t be under the shower everytime I’m nice enough to think of you, right? But hey, wouldn’t it be even stranger if you actually_ were under the shower _every single time? It would be like, you know, a sign. Aaand perhaps I shouldn’t get into details right now since I’m surrounded by people in a crowded restaurant. Even though I wasn’t going to say anything displaced, obviously. You know me. Not my type. Just, I wouldn’t blame you if you were thinking about him while showering. I mean, who doesn’t? But okay. Children everywhere. Got it._

_You can’t even know how good it feels to speak alone. I swear to God, I’m going to kill you next time I see you. Which means in five hours if I remember correctly. Ah ah, what am I saying, of course I remember well. I’m perfect. Right, Reus? Tell me, how does it feel to be close to somebody such as me? How do you stand the competition? I wonder what you like most about me given there’s so much to love. I’m sure you love thousand things about me but are too shy to confess it. You’re cute. All my fans are cute. Love you all. And, well, I was sending kisses while I said that and now there’s an old lady looking at me suspiciously. God, why me. She won’t stop starting. Marco. I’m afraid. What if she decides to beat me to death with her walking stick? I’m too handsome to die. I’m too—hey! I really sound like Mats lately. Almost as smug as him. I made progress, agh, I’m going to kick his ass in his own game soon. You will, of course, stand by me, right? Me, your idol. Do you dream about me? I mean, like, honesty. Because I dream about me. I’m not afraid to tell it.”_

_There wasp a slight pause during which Marco could hear distant conversations as Mario placed his order._

_“Ahhh. It’s exhausting to play the rock star, Marco. I’m done. I’m glad my heart chose you instead of Mats. Or Moritz. Or Santana. God, our team is a disaster. We should run away from them. Just you, me, and our pockets full of money. Where would you want to go? Some warm place I reckon, given you’re always cold. Which is something I will never understand by the way, but okay, I’m not judging. On the other hand, I’m totally judging the guy wearing a yellow shirt with red pants. WHY? Well, I’m saying that to you, for whom fashion seems abstract. Yes, I’m talking about what you were wearing the other night and no, I’m not going to erase this moment from my memory. Sorry. Unless you come and save me from that fucking old lady who’s still staring at me. What did I do to deserve that? I just wanted to have a friendly chat with you. This is your entire fault, Reus. I’m waiting for an apology._

_I haven’t even had the chance to explain why I called you in the first place. How sad is my life. Well, you see, I was looking at the menu and it appeared that the chief’s speciality iiiis…crab. And it reminded me that you didn’t like it. That, you, actually, were scared to death of crabs. For God knows why. I mean, who can loathe crabs, beside you? Nobody. Exactly. Because crab is good, Reus. Crab is cute. Crab is crab. In conclusion, crab is better than you. Which leads me to the following question, should I buy a crab and make it my new best friend? Not that you are my best friend, right. We can negotiate your statue if you’re ready to pay me, though. Your choice._

_Anyway, this message is probably as long as…well. I had a perfect example in mind but really, saying it aloud in the middle of a restaurant doesn’t sound like a good idea. If you know what I mean. If you’re smart enough to know what I mean. Are you? Cause I definitively can’t hang out with stupid people. I mean, my reputation.. And let me tell you something, you better have listened to this message ENTIRELY, otherwise the consequences are going to be legendary. Trust me. I hope you’re like, sitting on your couch, crying as you realize how lucky you are to just be able to listen to me melodious voice for such a long time. As you realize that me taking time to speak to someone like you is like the closest thing to heaven. If I’m on speakerphone while you’re getting ready, I swear to God I’m going to fill up your entire apartment with crabs. Baby crabs, monster crabs, killer crabs, the whole package. Just so you know. I wanted to scream at you, you know, to sound more theatrical but I’m afraid of bringing back the old lady with my luck. I’m gonna name her Rosie. Cause it sounds a lot like Reus. And since both of you are annoying, it fits well. I’m such a genius. I’ll try to take a picture for you, okay. I’m sure she’s your type. Small, probably blonde before her hair disappeared, and pretty teeth, she was made for you. Eheh. I’m such an awesome friend as well. And my delicious crab is hereee._

_Well, Rosie boy. Try not to die in the stairs before we meet!” he ended up cheerfully._

 

***

               

Marco had fallen for him and, of course, it had not gone unnoticed. If there had been one thing the team had loved to do this season that had been made fun of both of them. To start, Kevin had never ceased to call them Bella and Edward—“Cullen and his girl” during his better days—and members of the staff had always referred them as “the two idiots in love” (nickname which had made Mario chocked and wanted to die). In fact, the staff had been conflicted throughout the year between those who were team Bellamario and Edwardeus—(WHO THE FUCK FOUND THIS SURNAME? LIKE KEVIN’S WASN’T RIDICULOUS ENOUGH. AND WHY AM I THE GIRL?)—and those who had been influenced by Klopp and Robert, the fervent supporters of Lukasz and Kuba, and were therefore team Lolek and Bolek. The night where the team had known about it and had picked side had been pretty memorable. Moritz and Leo had chosen them because “they were both swaggy” whereas only Lukasz was in the other pairing, while Santana, Marcel and Julian had voted against them. “We don’t like you, you’re annoying,” had served as an explanation. As for Mats, even today he would not tell which duo was his favorite.

Anyway, the conflict between the staff and the players had not been the only issue that they had experimented. Mats had probably advised them _every single day_ to reserve a room in order to make babies and Moritz and Leo had never let go of the idea of becoming the godfathers. Thus, of course, they had started looking for the perfect names, submitting to them thousand lists of comparison between them, of details about astrological signs, and of analyses on every single detail they could think of. And they had done that for _months_. Marco had almost cried of despair the day where they had contacted several maternity hospitals for their beloved friend _Maria_. Nuri had laughed until his cries; Roman had acknowledged that, despite not taking part into this fight, they were fucking _good_ ; and Klopp had patted understandingly Marco’s back. To top it all, Kevin had had the best idea in the world in provoking World War III by pointing out that, anyway, he was the one going to be godfather given that he knew Marco for longer than Moritz and Leo _reunited_. Literally all hell had broken loose that night.     

Well, there had had others things as well—like threats to Marco’s hair and anonymous postcards telling them to just fucking admit that they were together so everyone could live happily—but really, the way the team had welcomed him had just been awesome. That would always been something for which Marco would be thankful. There was just no way not to love this team.   

 

***

               

_The lawn was more than half brown now that autumn had begun but fortunately some grass was still growing green and luxuriant from the constant rain. This sunday afternoon was uncannily clear and calm though, some clouds passing across the blue sky but so underlit that they were simply making the blue appear brighter. Puddles were lying here and there among the wet, browned grass, catching the sun with unexpected dazzles that looked like jewels. Natch, as the kids they were, Moritz and Leo were splashing in the puddles, roaring with laughter._

_Santana shook his head. “And Hummels says I’m the worst, what a joke.”_

_Lukasz had proposed to the team to have a picnic outside just to change. Kevin had been the only one to decline, drawling something like “Great! Let’s eat under our own version of a pool!” meaning he was probably going to meet up with his mysterious girlfriend. They had just rolled their eyes and begun packing food, taking great care at keeping Moritz away. “I’m persecuted” he had sniveled before spilling milk instead of tomato sauce in the pizza dough. He was still laughing at the horrified looks he had received. Secretly laughing not to be killed but still laughing._

_“It’s kind of worrisome though,” Ilkay commented absent-mindedly when Santana brought up the subject again._

_“Yeah,” Neven agreed, putting a tablecloth on the green grass. “I mean, it must be a disease or something. Seriously, even when he’s not actually cooking a disaster happens. He just has to be around food.”_

_“His situation is as bad as yours with badminton then,” Mario added with an innocent smile._

_Neven lifted his chin condescendingly. “It has nothing to do with what we’re talking about, Götze. Let’s go back to Moritz’s issue with food.”_

_Mario laughed softly as he put a second tablecloth down the first one to make sure they would not be touched by the wet lawn. That was when Moritz and Leo decided to draw level with them, laughing and running and talking loudly—but like Santana had made them observed one day, being loudly was their thing. Moritz took out the drinks out of the icebox then turned to face Neven, cheeks pinkish by the wind._

_“It’s not a disease,” he announced cheerfully. “I’m starting to think that food can’t handle my perfection, actually.”_

_Which made Neven chocked, Marco laughed and Ilkay curved an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”_

_“Yeah, you know. When I’m around it just reminds them how little they are next to me. They’re just foot and I’m, if I may be so bold, the perfection. It must be difficult to live with. I don’t know how you guys do.”_

_“Is that a joke?” Santana asked, completely flabbergasted and starting at Moritz in disbelief. “Somebody tell me it’s a_ joke. _”_

_Sven sniggered. “In my opinion, he’s just extremely and irreparably stupid.”_

_“It really seems to me that we didn’t ask for your opinion, though,” Mats pointed out with disinterest._

_Most of them chuckled and started to share out the food. Sven squatted and looked out for his cheese sandwich. “Still not over your loss against me, apparently.”_

_“It was four months ago, you’re the one who’re still thinking about it.”_

_“And you’re the one who’re still bitter about it.”_

_“And you’re the one who’s going to be killed if don’t shut your mouth soon.”_

_Sven rolled his eyes exaggeratedly and sat down next to Neven. This last was caught in a lively argument with Jakub and Leo over the last slice of pepperoni pizza—even though Jakub already had his own piece of pizza and Leo was doing it merely to piss Neven off and made the audience laugh. A little bit further, Marco and Mario were chuckling like idiots, vaguely trying to limit the damage of what they have done. Namely, opening a bottle of Coke a little too quickly which was now overturning everywhere on the tablecloth. Robert and Mats, as for them, were discussing about which between Barcelona and Real Madrid was the best team. When Robert called him, however, Nuri cut short the debate by stating that, obviously, Madrid was the best team in the world alongside Dortmund._

_“Someone explains to me why we are listening to somebody who’s not even in the team anymore?” Mats queried loudly to retain everyone’s attention._

_“Wait for me to come home, Hummels,” Nuri’s voice laughed from the loudspeaker. “Your life will be hell.”_

_“Bender and Santana are eating alive their pizzas like the greedy guts they are just in front of me, two kids are flowing Coke into puddles in order to make chemistry experiments, and two guys, a puny one and a chubby one, are giggling like some stupid adolescents girls for whatever reasons. My life is already a hell, believe me.” He sipped his drink few seconds, his curly hair sophistically manhandled by the breeze. “Did I forget to mention the big bad boy believing he could be right against me? Believing I could be wrong? Yeah, I must have forgotten him given how useless he is. Well, you can’t blame me.”_

_There was a moment of silence where all eyes were focused on Mats before Marco exclaimed “Oh my god” and everyone burst out laughing. Making a comment about “Nuri paying the bill anyway,” Mats ignored them superbly and went back to his pizza, intending to eat every slice of it so the rest of the team would die of starvation._

 

***

               

The team had not been the only one to notice Mario and Marco’s complicity, nonetheless. The whole football world had noticed it as well and Marco could have never guessed the proportions it had taken. It had been like, suddenly, they were the the best duo in the world (and apparently they were, according to several declarations), like their understanding was the future of football. And that’s something they had never seen coming (and how could they not had discerned all the imperfections as well if they had spotted their connection?) but god, it had made Marco prouder than he could have told. In less than four months, no matter how much Bayern had been on its way to triumph all over the world, it had been Mario and him who had amazed everyone.

That had been their faces, in the cover of every magazine. That had been their names, put in every report. More than that, that had been their partnership—their friendship—under the spotlights. And it had meant a lot.

 

***

              

November had probably been the month where Marco had been the happiest at Dortmund. At what Mats had raised an eyebrow and replied condescendingly that “every second spent in my company should be special, blondie, what are you even talking about? No favoritism if you may.” Therefore, Mario had suggested to burn and eat him before burying his rests under the Stadium. Everyone but Klopp had enthusiastically agreed. “Don’t, guys, we need him in the team to serve as a target for players like Pepe. By the way, Mario, you just sounded like a cannibal. I let it go for this time because it was about Hummels but control yourself. It would be regrettable to find Marco dead some time,” had been his advice. “Regrettable?” had repeated Santana with a rictus, “that’s all? It wouldn’t have pleased me, Reus. You should quit the team in boycott.” Everyone had then turned their head towards him and proposed him to give the lead. Santana had refused to talk to them ever again.

Anyway, more than the fact that the team had seemed even stupider in November, it had also been the month where Mario and Marco had finally crossed the boundaries of what maintained their relationship as friendship only. It had happened during a poachy, windy afternoon, which had been fresh and unusual after all those sunny days but had not stopped them from shopping. Mario had been wrapped up warmly in his giant scarf and Marco had made fun of him all day long. In revenge, the younger boy had made him brought the most awful t-shirt they had found and Marco had sworn to strangle him with it when he would fall asleep tonight.

And at some point of the day, both sharing a fitting room and laughing at someone’s hair instead of trying clothes, Mario had kissed Marco. His lips had been soft and gentle, while his fingers had grabbed the bottom of Marco’s shirt. It had lasted around ten seconds and it had felt like all the pieces had been put together—finally.

Instead of pulling apart after that though, they had pressed their foreheads together, grinning like idiots (and especially Mario who could not had help but laugh softly, his hands still holding onto Marco, his breath brushing against his lips, his eyes brighter and livelier than ever). Marco had slipped up his face one more time, never wanting to forget this moment—never wanting to forget how beautiful and overjoyed he looked—then had whispered “first time in a fitting room? I thought you’d be more romantic, actually,” his fingers cupping Mario’s face. This last had rolled his eyes, cheeks hurting from smiling that widely, and had flicked his nose with his. “Ah, sorry my lady,” he had countered, eyes sparkling, and Marco had never loved his smile more than at this precise moment. He had added “By the way, the green shirt suits you best, you should take that one,” then had taken away the last centimeter of space left between their lips and had kissed him again, warm and fond.

And nothing else had mattered.

 

***             

Marco still remembers how instinctive and surprisingly easy it had been to finally date Mario. If he had expected a sort of change in their relationship, something different and unusual at first, he had been wrong. And, well, he should have seen it coming considering how simple and obvious everything was between them. Dating Mario had not been a new step or a new beginning like with Caroline and Havard, it had just been the continuity of things. It had been natural.

It had felt so damn right and so damn perfect that there was no way they had not been predestined to end up together.

 

***

               

Also, he still remembers how many times he wondered how he could have survived without kissing and touching him before.

He still does not know the answer.

 

***

               

Their first time had been accompanied with burst of lightening brightening the pitch-black sky, making the buildings rattle and the earth crumble. There had been an absolute storm outside, loud and impressive, rain pelting down and smashing starkly against the window panes, lightening zigzagging across the sky, illuminating the clouds and leaving tiny patches of deep blue peeping through. It was not like the had planned to go further that night in particular but the air had been especially full of moisture and hot and suddenly touching each other had not been enough, and suddenly they had been breathless and sweaty and totally in love and the room had been plunged into darkness and crack of lightning and thunder had flashed simultaneously and crashed and everything had just happened so instinctively.

Even today, Marco cannot remember a time where he had found Mario more beautiful than this night, cannot remember a time where his heart had beaten that fast and gone that wild. There had been nothing comparable to breathing Mario’s smell everywhere—a mix between moisture and Hugo Boss—, to be at one with him like they had never did, there had been nothing comparable to Mario, hair plastered to his forehead and short in breath and sweating and biting hard his lips, whispering and moaning and imploring and repeating all over again his name. Nothing. He would always remember the way Mario had hung on to him, nails scratching his skin, the way Mario had kissed him like nothing else in the world could matter as much as him and this moment, the way their bodies had perfectly fit together. He would always remember the low rumble that had followed every lightening and the way Mario had fought tirelessly against himself not to close his eyes in order to watch Marco but had to anyway when everything had been too hard to take.

Marco will always remember how complete he had felt, how evidential and amazing it had been, how beautiful Mario had been as well, how another lightening had hit a power line at the very moment where they had both come—how their screams had been beautifully mixed with luminous sparks bursting into the air like a firework. Always.

 

***

               

So yeah, his five first months in Dortmund had been incredibly great. The team had been doing fucking food in Champions League, Mario and he had been happier than ever and the whole football world had been in love with them. He could not have asked for more.

The second part of the championship had begun under snow and freezing temperatures but even though they were still far behind Bayern in the league table, 2013 had brought with him lots of dreams and promises. The future had seemed so bright. To top it all, Nuri had come back home and Marco had been delighted to eventually get a chance to know him. Because it did not matter if he had made mistakes and one of them had been to break his best friend’s heart, Nuri was still an awesome guy. And actually, Marco had found out, he had a pretty good reason to hurt him in the first place even if it did not make it more acceptable or anything.

 

***

               

_“Mario didn’t lie—you’re fucking talented.”_

_“You can say that, mister I-played-at-Real-fucking-Madrid,” Marco quipped, rolling his eyes._

_Nuri laughed quietly, stretching his legs on Marco’s bed as the movie was beginning. “Well, you know, I didn’t play that much but we can say it was kind of nice, yeah. No, really,” he added quickly when Marco rolled his eyes one more time, “being back to Dortmund is much more amazing. This team is worth all the Real Madrid and Liverpool in the world.” He dipped his hand into the salad bowl of popcorn. “But I was kind of surprised to find out you’ve chosen us instead of Bayern. We may have won the last two championships, I’ve to agree that their team is more impressive on the paper.”_

_“Yeah, I guess. Impressiveness doesn’t buy team spirit though. What I’ve found here is much more valuable than Bayern’s players. Well, of course, I’m friend with some of them but you know what I mean. It was my dream.”_

_Nuri observed him for a brief moment with a slight smile playing on his lips and an emotion on his eyes that Marco could not figure out. “Talented and smart, then,” he praised eventually and Marco understood that it was pride filling his gaze. He could not help but look away. “I start to understand why Mario is so in love with you. It’s strange because I may have been in two great teams where players_ did _get along but nothing compares to what we’ve got here. I don’t regret trying elsewhere but believe me, nothing can hold a candle to Dortmund. I’m glad you’re with us. You’re phenomenal.”_

_Marco shook his head, cheeks burning. “Too many compliments, stop here and watch the movie,” he murmured._

_“Oh my god,” Nuri laughed again, “you’re adorable. I’ve forgotten to tell you that I’ve already seen the beginning of this movie so you can dream, Reus, I’m just starting.”_

_“Hmmm.”_

_“It’s Mario who convinced you to come here, isn’t it?”_

_Marco turned his eyes to meet his gaze and found out he was genuinely curious and caught by their conversation. “Are you sure you want to talk about him?”_

_Nuri raised his eyebrows, grinning. “Why wouldn’t I?”_

_“I—I don’t know.”_

_“He told you about us, right,” he guessed, grinning even wider and Marco nodded. “What did he say exactly?”_

_The younger one sighed. “Just that you slept together for a time and then you left telling him it was only sex when he may have thought he was more than that?” he summed up, his hands playing unconsciously with the remote._

_“Well, you know,” Nuri replied while stealing the remote from Marco’s hands so he could focus on him, “Mario hasn’t known everything about it. We—Well. I really liked him. More than I should have. I was married, I_ am _married, and everything was becoming too complicated to handle. We started kissing and “fucking” because we haven’t had the strength not to but it shouldn’t have happened. I knew he had feelings for me, you know, but stupidly I thought I could remain untouched by him. But it’s Mario, how in the world could I have not fallen for him at some point?” He sighed, rubbing his face with a hand, turning to smile at Marco after that. “I couldn’t tell him that, of course. He was young and, still is, spontaneous and he would have certainly answered something like “it’s okay, we’ll figure it out,” and I couldn’t take that risk. And then, Real Madrid wanted me. It meant the world to me formerly, as you could guess. But it was also my chance to run away from him before I got too attached. So that’s why I did. I left to play in one of the best in the world and not to get too involved with a friend I didn’t want to lose. So I just—I just_ laughedit off _and made him believe it was nothing for me. I was hoping it would hurt him enough to make him want to get past me quicker than he would have if I was only leaving because I had to. Fortunately, it worked.”_

_Marco opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. “And you don’t…you don’t regret it?” he queried softly._

_“No, never. I love Tugba and I love my son more than anything else in the world. And I love Mario but as a friend. Taken some distance has been the best thing I could have done and I’m glad I did. It’s not like we’ve been_ in love _anyway. I don’t know where our attraction towards each other has come but I definitively know it’s over now. I’ve talked about it with him when I returned, you know.”_

_“Yeah, he told me,” he whispered, still taken aback somehow._

_Nuri watched him thoughtfully for a moment, eyebrows slightly narrowed. “Tell me, what did he told you precisely? How many months, what have we done, why did it hurt so much?”_

_Marco flushed instantaneously. “What have you done?” he repeated. “Honestly? You want to talk about it to_ me _?”_

_Nuri punched him in the ribs, rolling his eyes. “Get over yourself, Reus. I’ve heard you talking with Sven about some chicks the other day. You weren’t fussy if I remember correctly.”_

_“It’s different. It’s Mario.”_

_Nuri chuckled. “Alright, Benoit XVI. Answer the rest then.”_

_He titled his head, trying to remember the words Mario had murmured in the hollow of his shoulder. “Hmmm. He didn’t give me any dates as far as I know. He must have said something like “a relationship of few months gone” in fact. As for sex, well, he hasn’t been especially eager to tell me.”  Meeting Nuri’s eyes, he added quickly: “Which I can totally understand so please, don’t mess up with my innocence, Sahin.”_

_Nuri dealt him a blow in the head this time. “I think he may have lied to you. Or most likely, he must have told you some kind of evasive things and you have interpreted them your own way.”_

_“But you were his first, weren’t you? You were dating and sleeping with each other, no?”_

_The former Madridista swung his head from left to right. “Yes and no, and that’s the point. Mario and I were friends. Very close friends since we met, even though not as close as you and him for instance. But we’ve known each other for years and everything was perfect, normal, nothing more. We didn’t sleep together at strictly speaking. We were…doing things to each other, that’s for sure. But it was more like blowjobs and teasing straightaway after a game, when we were both sweating, horny and adrenaline-fuelled. I don’t think we were that attracted to each other, it’s just that sometimes the boundary between friends and more is fucking thin when you’re young. But we started acting like that—what? one month and a half before I left? If Mario developed feelings for me, it wasn’t for long believe me.”_

_It took a handful of seconds for Marco to get everything but once he did, he was still puzzled. “But…I swear you_ broke _his heart.”_

 _“Yeah, because I left, Marco,” he pointed out softly. “We were friends, we were always clung to each other. And we were becoming even more so, of course, when I left, telling him he was nothing but some fucking for me, it_ hurt _him. He had a bad season and I guess he hadn’t expected that.”_

_“But why hasn’t he told me that directly?” Marco replied, hands playing with the popcorn now. “It’s true he hasn’t said you were in love from the beginning or anything but it’s far away from what you think it is as well.”_

_Nuri smiled at him mischievously. “Ask him.”_

 

***

         

So Marco did.

 

***

               

 _Snow settling on windowsills, snow wrapping cars and buildings and trees, snow upholstering the ground—snow everywhere. Definitively, winter has come and thaw was making the streets slippery and hard to take. Their training ground had been half_ _slushy and half burring under snow, their spiked shoes either crunching through the powdered snow or slipping in uncontrolled skidding. Practice sessions were laborious because of that lately, and that had been with pleasure that Marco and Mario had crashed at Mario’s place, as they were accustomed to, after a particularly hard one. They had spent the day slumping cozily into the sofa, legs tangled up together and blankets warming them up, talking and kissing and laughing as movies were put in the background as usual. At some point, though, The Hangover part II had followed The grudge and Marco had categorically refused to talk to Mario until the movie was not over. Mario had showed resistance, of course, chocking him under the pillows when his protestations and threats had come to nought but Marco had fought back, ticking him until he could not breathe and had to surrender. “I fucking hate you, Reus,” Mario had announced, still breathless, cheeks reddened, pouting and reaching towards the table in order to get a glass of milk._

_“You love me as much as I love Hangover,” had been Marco’s only reply thus Mario had given up. Shifting laboriously because of the blankets’ weight, Mario had moved until he was half on Marco. Well, technically, he had just wanted to put his head on Marco’s shoulder but considering how strangely Marco was settling in the first place, it had ended up this way, Mario’s head half against his chest, half in the hollow of his neck, their legs even more tangled up than before. Surprisingly more comfortable than it should have been given their positions, Mario had pulled the blankets tight around them and had closed his eyes, more lulled by Marco’s even breathing than by the movie’s soundtrack._

_They were in that position for approximately an hour and a half when Marco noticed that Mario had almost fallen asleep. Pressing a kiss against his temple, he lowered the sound of the TV._

_Mario moved slightly. “I’m not falling asleep,” he mumbled drowsily._

_“You can if you want to, don’t worry.”_

_“No way,” he replied resolutely, his voice muffled by Marco’s shirt. “No way that I let you watch that movie all night and forget about me. I’ve got plans for us tonight.”_

_“Oh, really,” he laughed quietly while Mario was straightening and putting his legs over Marco’s lower abdomen. “It’s a shame that I won’t let you touch me as long as you don’t stop evading the truth then.”_

_Mario raised his eyebrows, slightly surprised and wearing his usual quizzical expression—which was frankly quite adorable— and so did Marco, meaningfully. Marco let him searched the answer in his eyes and suppressed the urge to kiss him when his eyes widened and his mouth formed a slight ‘o’ shape, meaning he had understood. He opened his mouth, decided otherwise, then opened it again. “It’s not—I didn’t lie to you, Marco. I wouldn’t have. I just—”_

_“—evaded the truth,” he repeated in hushed tones, a hand on Mario’s knee._

_The younger boy bit his lower lips. “Well, yeah.” He sighed, twisting his hands and not looking at Marco anymore. “It’s just, you know, stupid. I wanted to tell you but…I didn’t know how.”_

_“Mario, you don’t have to be ashamed of anything with me. You know that. I don’t care how it seems or sounds.”_

_But Mario was clearly upset by whatever he could not tell and when he shook his head, murmuring “easier said than done”, Marco just right himself enough to put an arm around his shoulders. Then he gently smashed his head against Mario’s, keeping a hand on his knee. This last leaned against him._

_“Well. Alright.” He swallowed and met his best friend’s eyes. Marco squeezed his shoulder. “I just…everything I said was true. It just lasted much less than I let you believe. Nuri and I started doing—things—at the end of the season. Probably less than two months before his departure. It’s not like we were in love or anything but…I really thought I loved him, you know. Perhaps I did. Perhaps I was in lov to reserve a room in order to make babies and Moritz and Leo had never let go of the idea of becoming the godfathers. Thus, of course, they had started looking for the perfect names, submitting to them thousand lists of comparison between them, of details about astrological signs, and of analyses on every single detail they could think of. And they had done t/emhat for e. I didn’t want him to find out. But it felt so good to be with him. So, the first weeks, of course I had my heart broken. And it hurt more than I would have expected. I acknowledged I wasn’t really in love when I figured out I wasn’t living his departure as a breakup but as betrayal though. Like—it was my friend I missed the most. It didn’t take me that long to geepmt over the—rest. But, again, one of my friends had left. And again I thought, stupidly, that he would never leave. Same thing happened with Shinji, believing that he’d stay if I was convincing enough. And, Marco, I still don’t know why it hurt me that much when he left, when they left, but it just knocked me to the floor for a moment and I hated it.” He shook his head vivaciously. “I thought you would laugh at me if I’ve told you it that way or that you wouldn’t understand how much I was serious. I mean, suffering because of a bad breakup? Everybody could get it. Most of the team has gotten it that way anyway. But suffering because your friend left you behind in order to accomplish his dreams? How absurd does it sound, honestly?”_

_Marco frowned. “It doesn’t sound stupid to me,” he whispered._

_A genuine, loving smile made his way across Mario’s lips. “But then again, I should have known you would understand, yeah. It’s just that I really don’t like to think about that time now. It reminds me how an imbecile I was. It reminds me how insecure and scared I was at this moment, with my injury and all my friends leaving because they were amazing. It reminds me how easily I got attached. I don’t want to be that kid anymore. I’m not.” He stopped long enough to breathe in and frowned slightly. Marco caught his shin with his hand in order to tilt his face towards him and plunged his gaze into Mario’s. His green eyes shined at him as he opened his mouth again. “It bothers me as possible when people in the team take the liberty of making remarks about it whereas, in the end, they don’t know a thing about what I think. You see, it’s like they know better than me what happened between Nuri and I. It’s like they know how I react better than me. Like, because I used to jump on Shinji and Nuri when I was younger and because I don’t with you, it automatically means that I care less about you than I did for them. This kind of reasoning is beyond me. Seriously. Especially when it comes from people such as Mats or Lewy.”_

_“They did?” he enquired in a murmur and Mario nodded in approval._

_“Yeah. Several times. Apparently they are worried about you. And about me. And it makes me quite laugh given how Mats broke Moritz’s heart because of his own cowardliness. With Nuri’s return though, I guess you’ll hear about them soon enough. I just—perhaps they are right, Marco? Perhaps I don’t treat you well enough?” His voice became as soft as a feather as he put his finger on Marco’s lips to prevent him for interrupting him. “Just know that it has nothing to do with the fact that I don’t love enough or anything, because I do, I fucking do, Marco. It’s just…I didn’t like it at first, you know, how many times our names got associated. Well, I liked it, but I didn’t want it to happen. Because every shining star in the team, every duo I had, finally left at some point and I was afraid—and I’m afraid—that it will be the same with you. And that’s stupid because you don’t want to leave, and I know it, but it just makes me think about the past sometimes and I loathe that. I don’t want to remember how much time I spent with Shinji or how many times I laughed with Nuri. Neither do I want to remember of how I got closer to Moritz and Mats at a certain point, nor of how I barely talk to them anymore, nor of how our friendship is far different from what it was before. I don’t want to remember how Mats and Moritz split apart because if it happened to them, why couldn’t it happen to us as well? I just don’t want to remember how scared I am to lose you one day."_

_He bit his lips again, his eyes full of emotions. “I don’t even know if what I said makes any sense, I’m sorry. I just…That’s just things I never talked about to anyone before and I never thought I would so I’m a tad confused right now. And embarrassed, pretty fucking embarrassed but…but you know. I’m messy anyway, everything in my life is a mess. Or was, until you came. Now, everything seems so natural and…and_ clear _and honestly, sometimes, I’m not sure it’s better.”_

_“It is,” Marco answered serenely, thumbing Mario’s bottom lip. “I won’t leave you. I promise. I’m just going to cling onto you all my life so be ready. You were right, after all, about the whole “you’ll never want to leave me” thing. Who would have thought that studying poetry would pay? Besides, if I read correctly Wikipedia, I won’t be physically able to go away from you. Edward can’t leave his Bella.”_

_“If you read correctly Wikipedia,” Marco started sluggishly, grinning, “Edward wants to_ eat _Bella.”_

_“I want to eat you too.”_

_“Oh but come on, feel comfortable to,” he laughed, raising his eyebrows playfully. “You know that I love your tongue on me,” he added as he climbed onto Marco’s laps and wrapped his arms around his neck. “Now that the truth has been gloriously reveled, I can touch you, right?” Marco nodded in approval. “Perfect. I’ve got things to make you eat.” He stopped an instant to run his tongue all over his neck, pulling out when he felt him shiver against him. “On me.”_

_“Ahh, you spend too much time with Sven,” he said, fighting to keep his tone light and teasing but failing anyway. His voice was too hoarse to be hidden effectively._

_“Should I remind you that you’re the one wanting to eat me in the first place or we’re good?”_

_“I didn’t mean it that way,” he replied softly as his fingers hooked themselves inside Mario’s waistband, causing him to shudder slightly. “You’re just cute. And you smell good.”_

_Mario burst out laughing. “Yeah, obviously. I’m still waiting for you to make me shut up, though.”_

_“Too cheesy. You can wait.”_

_“You’re the one mentioning Twilight, little heart, I don’t think you can talk about cheesy. But it’s okay if you don’t kiss me. I’ll pay the next-door neighbor a visit, I’m sure she’ll eat me alive given how she looks at me everytime she sees me. Definitively. Have you ever seen how cute she is when she blushes? Adorable. Plus, she’s blonde, just like you, I won’t even notice the difference. Even though her hair is better than yours. It’s hard to do worse, you might say.”_

_“I hate you.”_

_He laughed against his lips. “Make me shut up.”_

_“I still hate you.”_

_“Make me shut up and you can do everything you want of me. I’ll be all yours.”_

_“I loathe you?”_

_“Marco fucking Reus, if you don’t—”_

 

***

****

Obviously, after this talk, Marco had queried for more details and Mario had just said that, actually, 90% of them had no clue of what was going on and merely thought they were best friend since everyone was fucking in love with everyone in this team anyway but that, uncannily, some of them—like Mats and Robert—had seemed more concerned about their relationship than they should have.

Well, Moritz as well but Mario had only found that out when the number 7 had confronted him about it.

 

***

               

_It was early in the noon and February had been even more icy and snowier than January. It had not stopped Marco from being especially delighted and keen today during entraining and Mario was remembering the moment where he had cheerfully pushed Robert into the snow with a soft smile playing on his lips as Moritz was guiding him around a calm place near an imposing tree, leaves creaking under their steps, snow finding shelter on their shoulders, their faces windblown. The vast sky above them was bright and white-capped. Looking one last time at the horizon and pushing his hands in his gloves, Moritz turned around and smiled brightly at him. Mario raised his eyebrows._

_“You’re going to give me a speech about how unfairly I treat Marco as well?” he anticipated, adjusting his scarf tightly around his neck._

_“Should I?” he queried as he winked. Mario just shrugged._

_Moritz’s smile softened. “Yes and no. In fact, I just wanted to remind you that you weren’t the only to have suffered because of one of the team’s guys. My heart has been broken by one of them as well.”_

_Mario blinked. “Oh,” he whispered for lack of anything better and cursing himself for forgetting._

_“Yeah,” Moritz laughed softly, leaning back against the tree. “I guess we can say we’ve been through the same thing. Well, of course, Mats didn’t leave for another team as Nuri did but you know what I mean. Two handsome guys fucking us, making us fall in love with them, behaving like they gave half a shit about us, acting like the perfect boyfriends and then telling us it was over.” He shook his head, eyes saddening and voice slowing. “You know what hurts the most? It’s not even the false breakup, the words he said to me like how in the world could we have been together, it’s not even the pain, the broken heart and everything, no. What hurts the most is that he erased me. Like—completely. Like I had never existed. He hasn’t addressed me for more than…five months, easy. He doesn’t talk to me, he doesn’t look at me, even brush against me is too much to handle for him. He broke my heart like it was nothing, like he didn’t even known, and he forgot me overnight. It’s worse than anything, Mario. But you know what? I’m getting over it. Slowly and hardly and it’s exhausting and painful and agonizing most of the time but I’m doing my best. Because that’s just the way thing are sometimes. Sometimes two too naïve boys completely fell enamored with two older guys and sometimes these two older guys fucking destroy their hearts. That’s what happened to us. We loved them but they had other priorities than us. We loved them and it wasn’t enough. Mats and Nuri thought our relationship was only a game and sacrificed our friendship for it. Sad stories. But it happens. Shit like that happens all the time and everyday. A heart is probably being shattered at the moment where I’m talking. That’s how life goes.”_

_Mario shook his head. “Honestly, Mo, I don’t fucking know what happened to Mats but I can tell you—I can swear you—the way he was looking at you…He couldn’t fake that. He couldn’t—you know.”_

_Snow fell from his shoulders when Moritz shrugged. “Leo told me he must have been afraid. That he couldn’t take the risk to get too involved or attached lest he might get hurt because of it. Because it was new to him and all.”_

_The midfielder swallowed. “It makes sense, yeah. It doesn’t substantiate at all the way he treated you but it makes sense. He didn’t have to push you away like he did though, fear doesn’t excuse everything.”_

_He loved Mats but, god, sometimes the guy could be stupider than Moritz, Leo and Santana combined._

_“Yeah. Well I didn’t bring that up to talk about him, actually, but I guess you’ll understand the link. Because, unless I’m very much mistaken, that’s exactly what you’re doing to Marco. Pushing him away because you’re scared.”_

_Mario looked away. “It’s not that simple.”_

_The younger boy flushed him a wide smile. “Explain me then.”_

_“It’s just—it’s not—”_

_“It’s not the same?” Moritz suggested, teasing, almost chuckling. “Aren’t you pushing him away?”_

_“No.”_

_He raised his eyebrows, patently amused—of course—and surprised by Mario’s determined tone. “No?” he repeated inquiringly._

_“No,” Mario maintained, calmly and slowly, “I’m not pushing him away.”_

_“Mario—”_

_“I’m not! I’m being—I’m being adult. Because what? What would you like me to do? Apologizing for not being ostentatious enough in public? Because, oh, I can. I’m sorry to be rather focused on the match when we’re celebrating than on my boyfriend. I’m sorry to be breathless and sweaty and concentrated and not wanting to suffocate under twenty different arms. I’m sorry to curb myself in public not to make you guys uneasy or anything. Yeah, really, sorry to being nice to you. I mean, what’s wrong with you? All watching us lest I slay him or that he fall apart any second now. We’re fine, we’re fucking fine together, and we don’t fucking need to be clung to each other every second of every minute. We don’t and we won’t and if it makes me look like I don’t care about him enough then I don’t fucking care because he knows and that’s all I need. I’m sorry to grow up. I’m sorry to change. This is life for God’s sake.”_

_Mario shook his head, could not believe he had lost it. He was trying to calm his heartbeats down when he noticed how Moritz was looking at him, grinning and delighted and—proud. Mario rolled his eyes. “What, again?”_

_Moritz’s smile just grew wider. “Nothing. It’s not like I didn’t already know what you just said.”_

_“If you knew, why in the world have you made me say it?”_

_“Because you needed to,” Moritz answered quietly but more seriously as he titled his head. “It’s one thing to be aware of what people think about you but it’s another to deal with it on your own and, believe me, Mario, I perfectly see how much you love him. I may fathom it better than both of you actually. You seem to forget how close we were before. Thing is, I’m doubtless the one who knows you best, Marco not including. I was here when Shinji left and I was here when Nuri left and I was here before and I was here after. I know how you function. I know how you protect yourself. I saw how you managed to put some distance between you and everyone else once Nuri left and I heard how many times you talk about Marco even though he wasn’t even in the team yet. And I saw how all the boundaries, the distances you usually have, don’t matter when it comes to him. And I see how he’s the only one that you touch during celebrations even if it doesn’t last long. Because he is. I see how instinctive and natural it is between you and I don’t need you to hug him every second to feel how sincere and deep is it. I mean, your eyes talk for you. It doesn’t matter if you’re still trying to put some distance between you and him because it’s in your nature and because, somehow, you’ll still be afraid he’ll leave. It doesn’t matter because you still end up looking at him, because you never laugh or smile as loudly and brightly when it’s not for him, because—because there are thousands of reasons and if Robert or anyone else is too obsessed over Marco not to see it, then they’re incredibly blind and stupid. It’s written all over your face, how much you love him.”_

_He smiled again, softly but still playful. “But It’s okay to be afraid. It’s okay to be unsure sometimes. And it’s okay to want to run away when it gets too deep and_ fuck it _, if the world can’t handle that. Just don’t push him away, unconsciously or not, because you’re afraid of making a mistake again. You’re not. I can tell you that, no matter what it is, what Marco and you have can’t be a mistake. It’s real and you know it.”_

_Mario really tried to speak or do something but his eyes were embarrassingly wet and his throat was—you don’t know why—aching thus he could not. Moritz let escape a slight laugh before wrapping him in a tight embrace. The older boy just closed his eyes, holding him back and listening to a bird squawking somewhere near them. “Just don’t run away,” Moritz whispered in his ear one more time and Mario nodded. Nodded until his head hurts._

 

***

           

But Marco had understood. Mario had just been growing up all this time and there had been nothing to be scared of. He had always known how much Mario cared about him.

Or, well, he had thought he did.

 

***          

_“Keeeevin, Marco is harassing me.”_

_“I don’t fucking care. And you better keep cooking or I put your body instead of the pizza into the oven, just so you know.”_

_Mario whined dramatically, pretending to be offended, Kevin merely glared at him and Marco chuckled, throwing a pinch of flour at the younger one to indicate his victory. Although the weather was still icy cold, all the team had made the trip to Klopp’s house in order to suffer the consequences of the deal they had lost, namely make his life a paradise for at least 6 hours. Thus they were here, at his home, making lunch, cleaning his place and his car, entertaining him. Not wishing to endure this last at all (because obviously Moritz and Leo had chosen this one and were falling catastrophically), Marco and Mario had flown to the kitchen where they were sure that Tic and Tac could not follow them thanks to Moritz’s issue with food._

_At some point during their preparation, Marco had whispered something about how much he hated bananas and Mario had been shocked enough not to know this information in the first place to require that they play at “truth or dare” —knowing that the “dare” part was always turning around the sentence “tell me something confidential.” Marco had therefore been bombarded with questions for a while before announcing that he would no longer play if Mario did not do it as well. The younger one had rolled his eyes exaggeratedly but had agreed._

_The fact that he had agreed, though, as Marco found out quickly, did not mean it would be easy._

_Throwing another pinch of flour at him, he added. “And I swear I’m going to beat you painfully to death before Kevin does if you don’t answer me in less than ten seconds."_

_“You wouldn’t,” Mario replied as he clicked his tongue, eyes riveting on Marco._

_“Oh, watch me.”_

_Marco raised his eyebrows playfully at him, making Mario whine miserably one more time. Reaction which caused him to take a blow in the head by Kevin before he eventually left the kitchen, claiming that “he needed to get out of here lest to really slay him.” Once they were alone again, Mario turned around to look at Marco who was grating some cheese while checking on the meat cooking. He was whistling, softly and, under the faint brightness of Klopp’s lamps, Mario could see his eyelash moving up and down._

_Noticing Mario’s gaze examining him, Marco raised his head curiously._

_Mario laughed slightly. “What was the question already?”_

_“Why are you laughing?”_

_“Because you’re cute. What was the question?”_

_Marco salted the meat, then started looking for a new stove in the cupboard. “Tell me two things about you that I don’t know. Simple and fast, so stop evading it and make me someone special by knowing secret things about you.”_

_“You’re already special.”_

_Marco rolled his eyes but couldn’t repress a smile. “Fuck off.”_

_Mario laughed again, shaking his head, and climbed onto the counter. Then he dipped his hand onto the strawberry tart, picked up the reddest one and looked up at Marco. He munched the fruit, slowly, absentmindedly, and sighed. “I mean it, when I said you were already special,” he started, swinging his legs. “You’re special to me since…since a long time, actually. You wanna know something secrete? Well, okay. I’ve got a crush on you way before you came here. Well, it has always been more than a crush but you know what I mean.” He chuckled at Marco’s flabbergasted reaction. “It’s been years, seriously. I guess that’s why I didn’t freak out when things happened with Nuri, because it wasn’t_ that _new to me to be attracted by guys. But, Jesus, I’m glad we finally ended up together because I swear to God I don’t know how I would have resisted to the urge to kiss you. Honestly. Perhaps I would have drunk and raped you. Sorry.”_

_“That’s impossible,” Marco murmured almost instantaneously, still taken aback. “I would have known.”_

_“You know, I’m attracted to you since I’m what? Eighteen? It has become kind of natural to conceal it at some point. It was easy, at first, since we weren’t in touch or anything. I just had that massive, unbelievable crush on a guy who probably didn’t know I existed. By the time I discovered and completely fell for you, I was already used to it.”_

_Marco bit his lower lip and, abandoning the meats to their fate, came up to Mario until he could put his hands on the cupboard, on each side of Mario. The latter pressed a kiss against his forehead. “How did you know it was serious then?”_

_Mario titled his head. “Probably when I got jealous.”_

_The older one almost chocked. “You’re easily the least jealous person I know, Mario.”_

_“You’re kidding? Not when it fucking comes to you,” Mario scolded, his hands grabbing his boyfriend’s shirt automatically. “Damn, you’re flirting with the entire world and the entire world is flirting with you, Marco. Thing that I perfectly understand but still.”_

_Marco laughed  incredulously. “I’m_ not _flirting with everybody and nobody is flirting with me, what are you talking about?”_

_“Oh yeah, nobody right—nobody but André and Dante and Roman and Nordtveit and half of your friends and all these guys from Gladbach whose I don’t even remember the names but with whom you always hang out, nobody expect Mats and Robert and yeah, really, Reus, nobody.”_

_“But I—I don’t_ flirt _with any of them. I swear to God.”_

 _Mario rolled his eyes exaggeratedly, pulling on Marco’s shirt softly. “You just don’t see it,” he sighed. “But, trust me, they do flirt with you. It’s not—it’s not like they were actually trying to seduce you or anything, I know it don’t worry, but it’s still there in the way they touch you and act around you. I watched it, Marco. I watched it every single since we met. You_ dated _one of them, you can’t pretend it means nothing all the time. I watched how their hands linger on you longer than they should, how they press your body firmer against yours when it’s not necessary. It’s just—it’s just something you do. You’re amazing and you’re comfortable around people you love and you just_ touch _them in_ some way _and I’m fine with that, honestly, because I trust you and when we weren’t together, well, I didn’t have anything to say about it. But it’s another thing when they do the same to you. I just…I just don’t like it, okay? At all. Because—and that’s stupid since the blame is on me—but I can’t do it, me. I’m here, trying to fight against the urge to get too attached for whatever reasons and them they just…they’re just doing the right thing, they’re just doing what I wish I could do. They’re just all over you and it’s just fucking normal considering that, well, considering that you’re kinda irresistible. And it’s…well. You know.”_

_His green eyes met Marco’s ones and they look at each other in silence for a long moment, so intensely that even the sound of the boiling water wriggling in its saucepan or the laughs rising from the living room were shut down. Mario was pretty serious about it, the gleam in his eyes was telling so, and it had hurt him—it was hurting him. And—no. Marco opened his mouth._

_“Does it bother you even with people such as André? I mean, we kinda have the same friendship, the three of us.”_

_The smaller boy shrugged. “We don’t, not exactly. I reckon you’re closer. He touches you and you touch him in a way that I would never with him. We laugh for the same things but your conversations are deeper. Like, your whole friendship is. Honestly, it’s a chance that he’s only one of your closest friends because I swear, from the outside, you just fit together so perfectly that…that you could really be happy together. If you were in love.”_

_“But we’re not,” Marco replied softly and Mario closed his eyes briefly. “I love him and perhaps I tend to touch people whose I’m comfortable with a bit too much but, I don’t know, I don’t even realize it. You don’t have anything to worry about it. You don’t have anything to worry about Roman, Dennis, Giuseppe or all these guys from Gladbach. They’re just—we’re just really good friends. Full stop.”_

_“You spend a lot of time with them,” Mario pointed out in a murmur, fingers fisted in the older boy’s shirt and palm bouncing the soft material. “Going on holidays with them and all.”_

_“We’re close, yeah. I’m not in love with any of them, though. Dante’s just a friend as well. There’s absolutely nothing to be jealous of, I promise. As for Havard…well, it it makes you feel better, he still got a grudge against me for leaving. Or leaving him, I’m not sure. But Robert and Mats? Seriously? Robert’s getting married and Mats…well, Mats is trying to convince himself he doesn’t feel anything for Moritz while dealing with his relationship and we both know how well it goes.”_

_“Still, Mats was always around you when you came and now it’s Robert. Thing is, I don’t actually think you’re going to fall in love with them or anything but it would make sense it it happened.”_

_“Why?”_

_“And why not?” he countered, vivaciously and faintly at the same time, waving his arms with helplessness. “It’s not like I was the person you needed. It’s not like I was like—them. Robert—Robert is far more handsome than I will ever be and André is funnier and, Jesus, Roman is both. Just look at him, the guy’s perfect. Dante had shared things with you that I have not and I don’t even talk about Havard then. With his damn blue eyes and his hair and his smile and, God, Marco, you were_ in love _with him, okay. You could make everyone fall in love with you if you wanted and I’m just…I’m just trying to understand why you’re with me when these guys are far better. It’s not—easy.”_

_The last word was barely audible as his voice was full of emotions. Mario shook his head, very softly, as if his body couldn’t even bear to move, and the vulnerability in his eyes struck Marco hard in the chest._

_Instinctively, he put his arms around Mario and knocked their foreheads together gently. Sighing weakly, Mario lifted his legs around Marco’s waist and dropped his head in the hollow of his neck, closing his eyes. The blond-haired guy tightened his embrace. “I’m still young. I’m not good looking. I’m not especially funny or smart. I’m not tall, nah, I’m small and chubby and…and I don’t know. What if you deserve better? I’m never good enough. We can’t even—you know. Be a normal couple. I’m too fat for you to raise me up like you did with Caro or like I do with Ann. And, fuck, I’m supposed to be the frail one since I’m shorter but I’m not and it looks strange and…and what if we don’t fit together in the end?”_

_Marco waited until Mario’s breathing evened out to pull slightly away in order to make him straighten, then he caught his chin with his fingers. Mario met his eyes, reluctantly, his so glassy and defenseless that it made Marco’s chest tighten painfully once again. Shaking his head, he kissed the tip of his nose._

_“You don’t realize how amazing you are, do you?” he queried lowly, eyes shining and completely focused on Mario. The later bit unknowingly his lower lip. “Mario, you are—it doesn’t matter what qualities André, Roman, Havard, Dante or anybody have cause Jesus, you…God. I love them and I’ve got something different with every of them, yeah, but I’m not…I’m not in love with them. And I never will. They aren’t you. They aren’t you so it doesn’t matter in the least bit how funny and handsome they are. Believe me or not, I’m more attracted to you than them and, Jesus, there’s no comparison at all. You’re the one I want. You’re the one I love._ I _find you beautiful, Mario, and you are, and I love it, that you are small and chubby, okay, I fucking do. I’ll repeat it every fucking day if it helps you to get use to that idea but how can you even think something like this. If someone doesn’t deserve the other here, it’s definitively me and the whole world is aware of this fact. You’re tremendous. You are and you’re just going to be the greatest player ever in a few years and you’re such a man already and I just…Nobody makes me happy as much as you do, Mario. I don’t care if you’re not fond of history, or sciences like me. I don’t care if you’re different from the people with whom I hang out. It’s you. I’m just—just totally in love with you. And you’re incredible, Jesus. The world is going to be yours one day and you’re just—you don’t even know how awesome you already are. Seriously. It doesn’t matter at all if you’re shorter than me. I don’t fucking care, Mario.”_

_Mario opened his mouth as though to speak but no words came so he quickly closed it again and Marco took advantage of that to kiss him. It lasted a handful of seconds and then he kissed him again, and again, and over again, sometimes low and slow, barely brushing his lips, sometimes deep and open-mouthed, making both of them slightly breathless. He kissed him until his body started to relax—until his hands weren’t grabbing his shirt anymore but messing with his hair and his neck. He kissed him until Mario kissed him back and he did, kissing him senseless and hurriedly, and suddenly Mario was no longer sitting on the counter but standing still—standing still and relying on Marco to keep him steady—and Marco pinned him against the counter as much as he could, wedging one tight between Mario’s legs, and the younger boy let escape a moan loudly enough to make Marco shiver._

_“We can’t do that here,” he whispered against Mario’s lips, trying to get his breath back. “We can’t.”_

_“Yeah, totally. Let’s stop.”_

_Yet Mario slipped his hands just beneath the edges of his shirt, digging his fingertips into hot skin and Marco couldn’t help it. He pressed his lips against Mario’s again, one hand along the front of his neck, the other against his back and Mario bit down on Marco’s bottom lip—and, yeah, as usual it made him groan pretty loudly._

_“Well, there must have guest rooms,” Mario said breathlessly, pulling backwards just enough to lock their eyes._

_”What about the cooking? We can’t burn the house. Klopp will kill us.”_

_Mario kissed him rapidly, then leant his head down in order to trace paths with his tongue all over Marco’s pale neck, sucking and nibbling and licking until the older boy stumbled forward slightly, breathing more heavily than ever. The brunet chuckled against Marco’s throat. “Not consciously at least. We can ask Kevin to take over.”_

_Marco placed a kiss on his clothed chest. “You really want it, huh.”_

_Titling his head up, Mario brushed his lips down the bridge of Marco’s nose. “I answered your questions. I_ deserve _it.”_

_“Yeah, you do,” he murmured as he grabbed Mario’s thighs and pulled him up, his legs surrounding his waist. His fingertips traced the line of Mario’s collarbones as he kissed him. “But let’s call Moritz. Definitively going to burn the house for us.”_

_“And it will give us more time,” Mario backfilled with a huffed laugh, eyes a little too bright and lips a little too swollen and cheeks a little too flushed and Marco tried hard not to die._

_He nodded against Mario’s lips and he has no clue how they are even going to prevent Moritz because Mariop—Mario started whispering teasing and dirty things into his hears and honestly he couldn’t really care about it anymore._

***

So yeah, it had always been odd to Marco when people questioned Mario’s feelings.

 

***

 

 _“Has he ever told you he loved you?”_

_It was a misty day in early March, the sun barely peering through a mass of silver. The primary colors were gray and green and brown. The green was damp. Marco and Robert had lingered a little longer after entraining to pick up the equipment, laughing and talking about everything and nothing. Then Marco had made a fond comment about how Mario enjoyed his café with a slight touch of cream and Robert could not help but ask._

_Marco’s eyes widened curiously. “Mario?”_

_Robert nodded._

_The number 11 shook his head in negation._

_“And it doesn’t…hm…” Robert bit his lower lip, then sighed. “It doesn’t bother you?”_

_Marco stopped and titled his head pensively. The breeze around them was not that strong but was still cool enough to make them have gooseflesh. “Well…not that much.”_

_His teammate started at him for a brief moment. “May I ask you why?” he queried middly._

_“He doesn’t need to say it. I know he cares about me. He’s not just ready to tell it to me and all. I can understand that.”_

_Robert smiled softly at him. “I bet you do, yeah. Understanding is one thing though, doesn’t mean you have to like it, you know?”_

_Marco raised his eyebrows playfully. “I know, yeah.”_

_The forward folded his arms. “I’m not going to ask you if you’re together even though I noticed a change in your comportments since October or November. I’m not but either in a friendship or a relationship, I don’t find it casual not to tell that kind of thing. At least sometimes. I mean, he’s supposed to be your best friend, no? So why in the world haven’t he confessed that yet? It’s not like…I don’t know. It’s not the most difficult thing in the world to say anymore. And, especially in a relationship, it’s natural. You have the right to push, Marco, you know. If you want more.”_

_Marco eyed him with a genuine smile._

_Robert smiled back at him without even realizing it, a warm feeling in his chest._

_“It’s fine, you know,” Marco said brightly, kicking a ball away. “Our relation isn’t perfect, certainly, but we’re fine. It doesn’t matter if he hasn’t said these three words because, well, actions speak louder than words sometimes. And I know he’s sincere so it’s enough for me.”_

_“It shouldn’t.”_

_Marco wrinkled up his nose and knocked his shoulder against his. “And why not? You know it is, otherwise you wouldn’t even have noticed a change between Mario and me. You would just have thought_ I _was different, not our relation. If you can make this difference, then deep down you know that Mario is giving me enough.”_

_The second reminded quiet a moment, still picking up the equipment, and merely turned his head towards Marco once they were back at the bench. Marco looked at him curiously and Robert had to fight down the urge to hug him. “Perhaps. You’ve got a point so I’ll just remind you that it’s not because he has his heart broken once that he’s allowed to do the same thing to you. That it’s not because he must be afraid that it means that he has to never take the risk again. That it’s not because someone betrayed his trust once that it’s okay not to give you what you deserve. I love Mario, you know that. He’s like my little brother and I wish he didn’t have to get through—everything—formerly. But I love you too. And I’ve seen how different he was before, how much he could give and show to other.” He sighed again then smiled slightly, looking straight into Marco’s shining eyes. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”_

_“He’s not going to hurt me,” Marco chuckled with the softest voice ever. “He never will. We’re fine and it doesn’t matter if he says it or not. I haven’t either. I love him that way.”_

_“Good,” he sighed, still looking at him. “And if it isn’t, I’ll kick Mario’s asses for you. I’ll be your charming prince.”_

_“You can dream. I’m better than you at it anyway.”_

_Robert shot a ball at him and Marco dodged it by a hair. “At what? Protecting people and being a hero?”_

_“At everything.”_

_“Oh yeaaah,” he laughed loudly, throwing another ball. “You’ve especially proved it last week during our karaoke. Your voice was sooooo—”_

_“Oh fuck you,” Marco grinned, shaking his head. “It was simply me being nice to you. I didn’t want to hurt your little heart you know. It must be hard to be outdoing in everything by the great Marco Reus. I just wanted to share my chance with you a little, you could at least thanks me.”_

_“Oh my god, stop it, I’m going to choke. Fucking Reus.”_

 

***

_“How things are going between Mario and you?”_

_Marco turned his head sideways towards Mats, just slightly, and raised his eyebrows. Green shirt and blond hair next to dark one and red sweater, they matched quite well the greenery of Mats’ garden. Now that spring has finally hunted the last traces of winter, they were both stretching on the airy grass, enjoying the first warm sunbeams lingering on their faces. Flowers were blooming everywhere—red and green and pink and yellow and white and blue mixed altogether—and birds were flying home. Butterflies were swarming around them, too colorful under the billowing clouds, landing on the trees and resting on the tall grass. The air has got warmer, the earth smelled like freshly cut grass, everything was growing and budding and sparkling. The blessing of life has returned to the land._

_It was refreshing after all these weeks of rain and thunders. Marco wrinkled his nose, breathing the sun-filled scent of flowers. “I don’t know. Are you willing to talk about Moritz if I answer your question?”_

_Mats chuckled softly. “Fuck off, Reus.”_

_“Thing is, I’m starting to become a businessman thanks to sunny so I’m trading information. Take it or leave it.”_

_“Oh, excuse me, muffin cutie,” he retorted theatrically, grinning like an idiot. “Would you just notice that you’re trying to negotiate with the King of Business with the softest voice ever and by calling your boyfriend “sunny” okay, I’ve got so much respect for you. I’m_ so _intimidated.”_

_“Oh, shut up,” Marco laughed as he shook his head._

_Mats teased him a little longer before he eventually regained his composure. He licked his lips and eyed Marco pensively. “I’ll never understand why Mario and you are so persuaded something happened between Leitner and me, though.”_

_Marco, who was still chuckling from what Mats had said an instant before, stopped brusquely. He raised his eyebrows. “Seriously, Mats?”_

_“I—we were friends, okay? That’s all.”_

_“Nah, that’s not all. Don’t. You don’t wanna talk about it? Works for me. You tell me there’s nothing anymore between you? Can work as well. But don’t dare saying or implying nothing happened, Mats, because more than the fact it’s a lit, it’s disrespectful and awful and completely not worth of you. It’s disrespectful to Moritz, to everything he might have given you, for everything he must have done for you. It doesn’t matter if you reckon you have blown away everything there was between you because you haven’t, okay. Everything you have lived will remain and you fucking know it. It meant something before so don’t talk about it so carelessly, don’t pretend it doesn’t worth remembering. Don’t pretend it will cease to exist if you choose no longer to believe it. It has counted. It has meant something, for fucks sake. You’re acting like a jerk and I know you aren’t one, so man up, Mats, just fucking man up. It’s beyond me how you can even do that to him but, you know what, it’s not my business and I’m aware of it so, despite wishing to help, I’ll stay out of here. I will, I swear. Mario and I keep teasing you but we’ll never push too far away if you don’t want to and you should know that. So don’t fucking lie to me, Mats, and don’t fucking forget. Whatever the hell you’re trying to do, don’t forget him. Please.”_

_Marco ended up his tirade by punching Mats softly in the rib and this last raised his eyebrows in astonishment. Although he was still wearing his lopsided, mischievous smile, his eyes were dead serious._

_“Got in a fight with Mario before coming here?” he queried as Marco punched him a second time._

_“Nah. We never fight.”_

_“How is that even possible? Every couple fights, Reus.”_

_The younger boy whined and it made Mats rolled his eyes exaggeratedly. “We don’t,” Marco answered. “Not yet, at least. We just—we just don’t have anything to argue about? I don’t know, he’s my fucking best friend for a reason.”_

_“So in four years or something you never raise your voice at each other? Not even once?”_

_“No? I mean, it seems normal to me. It’s not my fault if you can’t control yourself enough not to yell at anyone, Hummels. So, no, I didn’t fight with Mario before coming to your place. You’re the one who pissed me off, thank you.”_

_Mats’ lips twitch in a smile. “I’m sorry. No, really, Marco, I am,” he added precipitately when the blond-haired boy just scolded. “I didn’t mean to…to lie to you or anything. I just—you know.”_

_“I know,” he said softly._

_Mats met his eyes and for a moment they only looked at each other, palms warm against the grass. “Oh, fuck off,” he sighed loudly. “He eats pasta after every game. Or used to, anyway. We would come to my place and cook together. Pastas seemed to be the only meal he didn’t burn so put the music on and did it together. Then we would watch a movie or the informations while eating it on the couch.” He gnawed at his bottom lip, before chuckling incredulously. “Well, you told me something about Mario and you, I did the same about Moritz and me. We’re even now. No more questions. Ever. I’ll do the same about you two.”_

_And Marco just smiled widely. “Okay.”_

 

***

Thing was, though, that he did not need Mario to say it and, at some point, anyway, everyone kind of understood it. Understood it to the point where Marco’s personal life had become a mix between his relationship with Mario and the guys getting involved _in_ his relationship with Mario.

Involved a bit too much, perhaps.

To the delight of the whole team, Mario and Marco had gone in vacations to Ibiza in order to celebrate Christmas a tad differently this year. When announced, Marco’s mum had had a smile plastered to her face for at least two days and Fabian had said something like “don’t forget to use condoms” which had caused Mario’s dad to almost choke on his coffee. But the worst had been their teammates. Mats had asked Mario how many months pregnant he was, Moritz had tried to edge his way into their suitcases, Kevin had not stopped to raise his eyebrows meaningfully at them at any moment of the day—and Mario could not had helped but enquire if his mental disorders had become physicals—Lukasz had thought of a prank, Robert had screamed “I knew it!” and had sent a thousand of messages to every possible person in the world, and Nuri…Nuri, well, had begun to supervise the wedding.

Marco had broken into Klopp’s office to ask what would happen if he killed half of the team. Unfortunately but predictably, the answer had not been the one he had hoped for so many nights thus he had to spar their miserable life and, after throwing Moritz off his bag, had wished them a painful death. Mario had—just in case—taken an appointment to the psychologist.  

Thing was, they had both thought they would get rid of them once at Ibiza.

And then, Mario’s phone had ringed.

“Nuri, _what the fuck_? I swear to God, it better be important cause we haven’t even reached the hotel yet.”

“Seriously? How is Ibiza?”

“Have you listened to what I just said? We’re still in the fucking cab.”

“Oh, too busy blowing Marco to enjoy the view? I understand.” The bastard had laughed. “We’ll call you later then.”

“What? No! No, don’t call—Nuri! Nuri, don’t you _dare_ —”

 

 ***

 

_“Hello, sunshine of my life. How are you doing?”_

_They had discovered their hotel room since merely fifteen minutes and—“Fuck off, Nuri!”_

 ***

_“Hola, amigos.”_

_In this sunny Thursday afternoon, Marco and Mario were wandering around in the shelves of a supermarket, looking for something quick to cook tonight considering they could not have dinner elsewhere since Mario had lost his beat against Marco involving a luxurious meal outside. Marco was hesitating between steamed potatoes and roasted potatoes when his phone rang. He saw Mario rolled his eyes and left the cucumbers that he was weighting in order to meet up with him. “Tell Leitner I hate him,” he murmured in his ear as he slipped an arm around his waist._

_Marco tried to push him away softly. “Mario says hi.”_

_“He’s insulting me, isn’t he?” Moritz laughed heartily. “It’s fine, I don’t like him very much either.”_

_“What the fuck, he worships me.”_

_“Not anymore. My new favorite person in the world is Nuri. I’m sorry if it hurts him but he needs to know, Marco, so just, you know, break the new to him.”_

_Mario put a kiss on Marco’s neck. “I couldn’t care less.”_

_“ANYWAY, I was calling you, not him, so let’s just ignoring him. How are you, you giraffe?”_

_“Fine?”_

_“And how’s the honeymoon?”_

_Mario rolled his eyes. “What the fuck is that again?”_

_“Well, everybody knows that this trip is like your honeymoon, guys. You don’t need to pretend anymore.”_

_“You have no idea how much I hate you, and the whole team as well.”_

_“Nah, you love us more than you love your stupid boyfriend,” he said and Mario scolded. “Leo’s calling me, I need to report everything I learnt about you two to him.”_

_“We didn’t tell you shit,” Mario cut off before Marco could even open his mouth. “Leave us alone.”_

_“Defending his man,” Moritz chuckled, “how cute he is.”_

_“Mario whishes you to get hit by a train and to never call again or he’ll be the one driving the fucking train. His words.”_

_And before they even heard Moritz’s answer, Mario cut off the line._

***

 

_“Not you too,” Mario protested faintly as he answered Mats’ call. “For fuck’s sake, Hummels, I trusted you to be different.”_

_Marco swore he could_ feel _Mats’ smile. “I am,” he retorted smugly. “That’s why I’m not going to ask how your holidays are going and just wish you to die soon enough. Amicably, of course.”_

_Mario puffed. “Why are you so mean?”_

_“Ask that to your boyfriend. I’ll be nice when he’ll stop ignoring my amazing messages. I consecrate my time to him and he’s not even thankful. He apparently wants me to fuck off, how horrible is that? I hope he doesn’t act like this with you.”_

_“Oh yeah, he does,” Mario replied cheerfully as Marco punched him. “He’s totally hitting me right now.”_

_“Do you want me to call the cops?”_

_“Nah, thanks. It’s the kind of violence that I love, if you know what I mean.”_

_“Totally. I told the guys that they would have a better chance to make you talk about your sex life if they didn’t push you about it but no, no, they have to talk turkey. I tried my version, I succeed. I don’t even want to mention people who are too blind, too in denial, and too stupid, to notice how smart I am.” He cut off a handful of seconds to—as Marco and Mario believed—shake his head. “So? How’s your sex life going?”_

_Mario broke off momentarily. Then he chuckled incredulously. “I’m hanging. Farewell, Sheehan.”_

_***_

_“You wrinkle your nose too much. Like, I don’t know, the first time I met you I thought you were allergic to something but no. You were just weird. Cute but weird. And you click your tongue more frequently than you breathe. You blush everytime someone compliments you which is adorable but worrisome. Perhaps I should be nicer to you in order to fix this issue? Nah, kidding, you suck, Reus.”_

_“And you’re telling me this because…?”_

_“Because—oh god—because we’re hidden in the bathroom and my legs are around your waist and your hands are under my shirt and, Marco, I swear to God there’s no way you fuck me against this wall with the team and_ Klopp _waiting in the room_ right next to us _. There’s no way so I’m thinking about cute things not to get hard, okay. My plan’s perfect and—oh god, move your tongue away from my neck—” He floundered faintly against Marco’s body and his legs tightening around him without thinking. His next words were more a floppy mess than actuals sentences as Marco was not taking into account any of his warnings. “Cuteness, I’m going to think about cute things—his legs fell apart from Marco’s waist and this last took advantage of that to pin him against the wall with his body. “You bite your lips too many times for it to be okay, by the way—promptly, Marco took off Mario’s shirt—I like it but it’s definitively something you should stop—Marco pressed his lips against his throat and Mario had some difficulty to remember how to breathe. What I have forgotten? Ah! The best of the best. You pull down your sleeves over your hands everytime it gets a bit cold and_ I swear _—Marco kneeled down and, this time, pressed his wet lips against Mario’s stomach, slightly sucking—that that’s is the cutest thing in the world. You can’t even know—Marco’s hands undone his pants and let it slide down to his ankles. You can’t—”_

_Something moist—Marco’s mouth—came tantalizingly close to the waistband of his boxer while his hands were running up his thighs and Mario could not do anything else but stumble against him. Marco chuckled softly against his skin and got up immediately, using one arm to support Mario around the waist. This last grabbed the back of Marco’s neck and buried his head into his shoulders. “I hate you. I hate you so much. There’s no way we have sex here, Reus, do you hear me?—Marco’s fingers hook themselves inside the younger boy’s waistband—do that and I become a nun—Marco began to unzip his own pants, his lips brushing against his skin, across his jaw. See, I don’t fucking care if you’re hard cause I’m not. I’m—I’m not—at all—oh god, Marco, just…just stop. I’m going…to think about baby seals okay, baby…baby seals dying, baby seals…”_

_And the hand which was not supporting Mario crept into his boxer. Mario let escape a loud, shaky breathe._

_“Nothing to add?” Marco teased him softly._

_Mario shook his head faintly, fingertips sinking so deeply into Marco’s pale skin that he was probably bleeding now. He breathed but his voice could not help but sounds hoarse. “Nah. Baby seals are done dying anyway.”_

_Marco chuckled throatily and lifted Mario up around his hips, his back pressed and steadied against the wall. He kissed him just before he buried his head in the crook of his shoulder once again._

_Then his fingers curled into his shorts and Mario violently bit down on Marco’s shoulder to muffle his scream and Marco pumped and pumped and pumped and thrust and thrust and thrust and pumped and thrust and thrust and pumped again and Mario moaned and grabbed him so tightly it hurt and he pumped and pumped and Mario whispered “Oh my god I’m com—” and Marco thrust harder and pumped rougher and here they were and—_

_—and the door opened. Nuri blinked._

_Nuri blinked before his laugh rang out across the whole universe._

***

_Mario frowned and folded his arms around his chest. Then he glared at Nuri. “I will never get over the fact that I missed one of the best orgasms ever because of_ you _._ Never _.”_

_Nuri suppressed a snicker in order to look deceptively offended. “What about the fact that I’m traumatized for life?”_

_It was the end of March and Mario, Nuri, Kevin, Lukasz and Sven were reunited at Marco’s place in this Saturday evening. These three later were helping Marco in the kitchen—meaning burning the pizza, blaming Moritz even though he was not here, searching for more alcohol and making plans in order not to be caught by Klopp tomorrow afternoon and meaning wrecking the kitchen more than it was at the beginning while Marco was uttering threats at them—thus Nuri and Mario were alone in the middle of the sitting room, settling on the floor around the end table._

_“I don’t fucking care. You deserve it.”_

_Nuri threw a coaster at him. “I was innocently going to the bathroom, okay. I’ve already waited fifteen minutes, I presumed you would have been done by now. If only you had been faster none of that would have happened. Your fault.”_

_“BECAUSE YOU KNEW WHAT WE WERE DOING?”_

_“Obviously,” he answered smugly, lifting his chin and turning his head towards the TV. “I’ve never seen an excuse as miserable as yours, by the way. Pretending to make an important phone call at the precise moment where Marco is going to the bathroom? Seriously? Even a seven years old kid could have guessed. In some way, it’s good for you though. I mean you’re probably not the dumbest in the team if no one has figured it out. But still. I’m disappointed.”_

_“Did I ask you to give me your life history? No, I don’t think so. So shut up, I’m not talking to someone who has ruined one of the best times of my life.”_

_“What was one of the best times of your life?” enquired a cheerful voice behind them which turned out to be Lukasz’s. Mario and Nuri watched him put a pizza down on the table._

_He sipped Kevin’s beer and looked at them inquiringly. Nuri sniggered. Mario puffed. “Nothing.”_

_“I know what it is then,” intermeddled Kevin with a mischievous smile, bringing another pizza, Marco and Sven following him. “Well, not the moment in itself but I know with whom you spent it.”_

_“Seriously, Großkreutz, it’s a disease for the whole universe when you’re opening your mouth, just_ stop _.”_

_Lukasz’s eyes went back and forth from Mario to Kevin. “What are you guys talking about?” he queried as Kevin began to laugh. “Seriously, why do you always have to imply things instead of saying it clearly? I’m fucking lost.”_

_Sven nodded in approval. “Me too,” he said sadly._

_Marco cleared his throat obligingly and started to slice the pizza. “Believe me, you don’t wanna know.”_

_“Oh no, no, no, I’m sure they do.”_

_Mario took the knife from Marco’s hands. “Groß—_ kreutz _.”_

_Kevin raised his eyes eyebrows nonchalantly and Mario gave up. He opted for eating his pizza and leaving the bastard alone while Kevin punched Lukasz on the shoulder in order to get back his beer and sat down beside Sven, slightly smiling. Lukasz just rolled his eyes and Marco turned the TV on._

_Under the table, Mario kicked Nuri’s leg. “Your fault,” he murmured when he raised his head._

_Nuri burst out laughing, Lukasz sighed with exasperation, Sven dropped his flatware heavily on the table and Mario received a message from Marco. When the younger boy looked too shocked to do anything, Nuri and Kevin both leant over him curiously so they could read it._

_And both died from laughter at the “I’ll suck off your frustration if we lock the door this time :)”._

 

 ***

But anyway, the times were Mario confessed to him he loved him through different ways than mouthing it were worth every interferences and doubts from their teammates. Totally. 

 

***

_“So. J’ai un cadeau pour toi.”_

_Marco raised his head sluggishly whereas his hands were letting go of the magazine they were holding and widened his eyes curiously. The dusky sky peering through the windows was darkening the green of his eyes as he spoke, an eyebrow curved. “Studying French, now?”_

_Mario titled his head. “I was trying to be romantic, but thanks for breaking the mood,” he laughed._

_The bigger boy wrinkled his nose. “Alright, sorry. What does it mean then?”_

_“Like I was going to tell you,” he snorted before addressing him a mischievous smile that made Marco rolled his eyes. “You’ll have to search, baby. In the meantime, I’ll look for something to say in Spanish to Mesut and Sami. You know, just to remind them their sad defeat against us. Our marvelous victory over them. Our amazing goal and our amazing celebration. They’ll appreciate the gesture for sure.” He looked at Marco pensively, his chin resting in the palm of his hands. “I’m perfect, aren’t I? I truthfully think I am. I’m in love with myself. I’m going to marry me. Absolutely. I’ll name my cute babies Mario since this name is as perfect as me and that my babies will be as perfect as me as well. They deserve the best. I deserve the best. I am the best. Aren’t I, Marco? Speak, slave.”_

_“As far as I am concerned, I think I’m just going to murder you in order to clear the world of you.”_

_“Could you live without me?”_

_“I don’t know, what have you brought for me?” Could change my mind.”_

_Mario pouted and threw a pillow at him. “How come you guessed that fast? Couldn’t you have been smart another day?”_

_“There’s an incredible thing called “a translator” in my phone as well, Götze. I was expecting better than you, really, I’m kind of disappointed if you actually thought you could trap me so easily. But then again, the more time you spend with Leo and Moritz, the stupider you become.”_

_“Then I should only stay in your company, superstar.”_

_Marco clicked his tongue and smiled widely. “Exactly my point. Glad to see that we are on the same wavelength. Anyway, your gift better be extraordinary to make me forget this whole thing.”_

_“Nah, you won’t have it. You’re too mean, you don’t deserve it anymore.”_

_“Oh my God.”_

_After looking at him in total disbelief for a few seconds, Marco finally picked up his magazine and turned his back to Mario in order to sulk and read it. The smaller boy chuckled._

_Chuckled and started jumping on the bed._

_Then he threw his arms around Marco’s neck and laughed cheerily in his ear. Marco let escape a painful noise. “Don’t mess with Mats’ bed. Mats’ house, Mats’ rules. I won’t stop him if he tries to kill you, sunny.”_

_“Hummels couldn’t live without me either,” he replied brightly, pressing his lips in Marco’s neck. “He literally pushed us in the room anyway, so he’ll take responsibility if it happens.”_

_“Not his fault if you’re fat enough to break a bed.”_

_Mario burst out laughing. “Said the giraffe. By the way, aren’t you supposed to become nicer so you could have your gift?”_

_“You’re the one supposed to become nicer.”_

_He let his head rests on his shoulder. “Kindness is my middle name.”_

_“And hate is what I feel for you.”_

_“A huge shame since my gift will make us look like twins,” Mario grinned. “Oh well—perhaps not like twins given you’d never be able to be on par with me. I mean, unpretentiously, I’m way better than you.” He left Marco’s side, got off the bed and started digging through his bag. Once he found what he was looking for, he pushed the bag aside and kneeled in front of Marco on the bed. “But it’s okay, because, as everybody knows, I’m extraordinarily generous so I offer you the possibility to wear something as class as I do.”_

_“I know what the gift is, then,” Marco interrupted him. He failed at hiding his smile when Mario looked at him in disbelief. “You thought I wouldn’t notice your new wristlet? It shines everytime you move, idiot.”_

_“And imagine it wasn’t that? You would have looked like the moron you are. God I hate you.” He shook his head with sadness as Marco laughed and unclosed his palm softly. He put down a wristlet looking exactly the same as his in it and encountered Marco’s sparkling eyes. “Here we are. It’s our names,” he explained as the blond-haired boy touched it, “written in Chinese. I was shopping just to find a new watch and I came across this tiny shop and I thought that, since you seem to love yourself that much, you would like to have another thing reminding you your name.”_

_He ended up his sentence with a grin and Marco pushed him away._

_“Are we necessarily obliged to be twins, though?” he enquired whereas Mario was hitching the wristlet around his wrist. “I’d rather be your boyfriend.”_

_“I know right, who wouldn’t?” he sighed theatrically and Marco bit down his lower lip. Mario chuckled. “Okay, big bad boy. Let’s negotiate.”_

_“Why does everything have a price with you? Couldn’t my love be enough?”_

_Mario looked at him disconsolately. “In what kind of world do you live, Reus? We’re stuck in the middle of a crisis and I’m a businessman, of course everything has to be paid. Ask me on a date and we’ll see. I’m hard to get, though.”_

_“So, just so you know, you’re a football player, not a fucking businessman, otherwise you wouldn’t spent one thousand dollars in a packet of pastas. Besides, you can’t be as hard to get as making Mats cut his hair short.”_

_“Yeah, well,” the smaller boy snickered, coming closer to Marco, “I don’t care. You’d better take me on a date at the most expensive restaurant.”_

_“Thing is, my pizzas are way better than any luxurious meal and you know it.”_

_Mario stopped a few centimeters away from him and looked straight in his eyes, his smile teasing and his eyes bright and playful and his lips a little too wet as he slipped his hands just beneath the edges of Marco’s shirt. “Point taken,” he whispered mischievously against his face, “but my kisses?”—he pointed out at his lips with his hand before putting it again under Marco’s shirt, “definitively better than all the pizzas in the world combined.”_

_Marco pouted. “You don’t play it fair.”_

_“You didn’t say there were rules. Afraid to lose already?”_

_He clicked his tongue and made Mario leapned back on the bed all at once, taking advantage of that to straddle him. Mario laughed, shaking his head. “You’ll crake first.”_

_Mario titled his head teasingly. “You seem pretty sure.”_

_“I am. I mean, I haven’t forgotten the fact that you watched me sleep for you-don’t-know-how-many-time the other night. By the way, it’s a real chance that I’m so into you and find that cuter than bothering, otherwise it could have been the end of our friendship, sunny. I hope you’re aware of that.”_

_The smaller boy hit him in the arm and attempted to hide his head into the sheets. “It was an isolated accident, for fucks sake.” He glared at Marco. “And may I remind you that you agreed to forget everything about it.”_

_“Did I?”_

_“Yes, you fucking_ did _,” he whined, accenting the word as much as possible. “You looked handsome for the first time in your life, I had to witness this moment. Be glad I didn’t take pictures not to wake you up.”_

_“You still watched me sleep, I’m still going to win your heart."_

_“You’re the one on top of me and you’re the one wanting to be my boyfriend. Just saying.”_

_“How many times have you asked Caro about me? About what kind of boyfriend I was? Yeah, that what I thought,” he teased when Mario light-heartedly stuck his tongue out at him. “You’ll crack first.” He brushed his nose against his. “But it’s okay, the entire world already knows about it. I’ll speak to you in Italian when it happens.”_

_“Oh, is that supposed to convince me, woody?” Mario queried playfully, putting his hands around Marco’s neck and bringing him even closer to him. “Because you know, I can directly take an Italian for lover to hear Italian. I’m sure he’ll be more qualified than you with the language.”_

_“I was going to thank you for the wristlet but you can go fuck yourself, actually.”_

_Mario chuckled. “Big words for little people, I see.” He wrinkled his nose the same way Marco always did. “Who would have thought you could be cute when you’re jealous?”_

_“I’m not jealous, I’m heart broken. I think I’m gonna go to the bathroom in order to cry peacefully.”_

_“Don’t dare moving.”_

_“And what are you going to say if someone found us in that position, genius?"_

_Mario’s hands went from his neck to his waist. His lips came tantalizingly close to Marco’s, almost brushing them. “I don’t care.”_

 

***

_“I don’t even know why I’m still talking to you,” Mario muttered, trying his best not to kick out Marco off his bed. This latter had apparently found—somewhere—that waking up someone by spilling water on his face was a fucking good idea. Of course, he had to try it on the guy who had merely slept five hours last night. “Or why I’m still even hanging out with you, or why I haven’t killed you yet.” Marco was settled on his legs, grinning like a fool. Butterflies didn’t fill up his stomach at all when Marco’s eyes started to twinkle._

_“It’s because you love me,” he claimed, kissing him softly on the nose._

_Mario raised his eyebrows, closing his arms around his boyfriend’s waist and letting his lips lounge on his chest. “Do I?”_

_The sun was high and bright, seeping through the window and enlightening Marco, losing itself in his blond-haired face. His smile was now beaming. Mario wondered if he had ever told him how beautiful he was._

_Marco took pleasure in messing up cheerily his hair then buried his head in his neck. Mario tightened his grip on him. “I do,” he acknowledged then in a whisper barely noticeable._

 

 

 

 

***

_They were lost in the forest in a muggy afternoon._

_Well, technically, they were not_ exactly _lost but they had ventured too far away from the rails and now, they were too lazy to find a way back thus they had leant against the trunk of trees and were nattering tranquilly, waiting for Kevin or Lukasz to give them a call and come to pick them up. Marco was looking at the sun casting a bluish-grey hue through the trees, whistling, sometimes singing, when Mario glanced up at him and twisted his lips pensively._

_Then he opened his mouth. “I saw that you were closer than before to Mats, lately,” he pointed out calmly._

_“Yeah?”_

_“I was wondering if you had already spoken about Moritz, one day.”_

_Marco titled his head. His voice was a low as the leaves dawdling along the brownish ground. “He keeps mentioning his cooking everytime he needs to rebuff someone with a powerful argument like “you’re as talented in that as Leitner in cooking” or “you’re even less useful than Leitner in kitchen” and things like that but otherwise, no.” He wrinkled his nose. “I didn’t understand, at the beginning. I remember how you used to text me about stupidities that they did together, about Klopp being mad at them and all, so naturally I was expecting to find them really close. And I came, and they didn’t exchange a single word. They almost looked like strangers. Well, I asked Moritz about it and he kind of explained it to me in broad outline. But Mats categorically refused to mention it. I’ve tried, you know, I’ve been subtle, I’ve made some allusions but nothing. He really doesn’t want to talk about it so I kind of gave up. I’m not sure we’ll ever see them together again. It’s too sad, seriously.”_

_Mario nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah. The saddest part is how Mats is trying to burn his feelings deep down. Like, you know, it’s one thing to be scared of it but pretend it has never happened? Definitively not the right thing to do. Especially after how everyone has seen how close they were, how well they fit together. The way Mats has erased Moritz from his life is dreadful. I don’t even know how he was able to do it given how much he loved him. I’ve talked about it with Moritz few months ago but he doesn’t even know himself. It’s like…It’s as if tomorrow I decide not to talk to you ever again. As if our friendship had been a dream and hadn’t really happened.”_

_“Ah, no. Don’t. I still want to kiss you.”_

_“Good to know that the only thing you’ll miss about me if I dump you will be my kisses,” he replied as he raised his eyebrows mischievously._

_“I’ll miss waking up next to you too. Your floppy hair and your sleepy face are the cutest thing in the world. You look like a sad puppy. That’s why I’m in love with you.”_

_“Nah, you’re in love with me because I’m perfect.”_

_Marco turned his head sideways towards Mario, just slightly, and regarded him out the corner of his eye, a smile making its way across his lips. “You’re annoying.”_

_“But still perfect.”_

_“I’ll go for smart enough to fall in love with the good ones, for now. I’ll considered you as perfect when you’ll make me breakfast every morning.”_

_“Oh.” Mario turned his head towards Marco. “But since when am I in love with you?” he queried, looking deceptively innocent._

_Marco pouted. Mario laughed._

_Then he hauled on his foot, dusting off the leaves caught in his clothes. Marco watched him as he walked towards him and knelt down beside him, pressing their foreheads together, settling his hands around Marco’s neck. His voice was barely audible over the crunching leaves. “Just kidding. You know you’re my ray of sunshine.”_

_“Thanks to my hair, I guess.”_

_Mario dropped a gentle kiss on his nose. “Nah,” he whispered softly, eyes shining so sincerely that it made Mario blink. “You could be bald that I would still be in love with you. I mean, you were kind of red-haired before, right—he chuckled when Marco pushed him away—and I already had hearts in my eyes for you so we can say the worst has passed and that I’m still here.”_

_“The worst hasn’t passed,_ you _are the worst for god sake.”_

_He grinned and rose to his foot again, helping Marco to do the same. “Yeah, well. Perfection repercussions, what more can I say.”_

_“Nothing, just nothing. If it’s not to compliment me, just don’t say anything.”_

_Mario took Marco’s hand in his and leaned up on his tip-toes to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Alright, pretty boy.”_

 

***

_“I need to tell you something.”_

_“See, it’s totally because of man like you that we have the reputation of being assholes. The kind that waits until sex is over to talk about serious shits. You should be ashamed of taking advantage of me like that, really.” Mario shook his head, deceptively disappointed. Marco tried to shove him away but the smaller guy just chuckled and pressed his naked body tighter against his, pulling his left arm across Marco’s chest. “So, what’s up rolls Reus?”_

_“Your sense of humor is killing me, ah ah ah. I’m sticky, exhausted and fucking hot so get the fuck away from me, Götze.”_

_Mario laughed quietly, then climb onto his lap in order to straddle him and put his arms on his shoulders. Marco looked at him—looked at his round, teasing eyes, darkened with lust—looked at the bead of sweat making its way against the sides of his face—and titled Mario’s head so he could kiss him. It was messy and sloppy and fast and needing, with dragging tongues and wet lips and moist breath and fingertips sinking into skin. They merely stop it when the world sort of becomes a blurry, dark thing._

_His hands moving back and forth Mario’s back, Marco pulled back and dropped a gentle kiss on his swollen lips. “I still need to tell you something and I’m so, so sorry about it.”_

_The number 10 was about to tease him when he noticed how miserable Marco actually looked. Curling his hands against the sides of the midfielder’s face, he whispered. “It’s okay, Marco. Just tell me.”_

_“I think…I think I lost my wristlet. You know, the gift.”_

_He chewed his lips, unconsciously, waiting for Mario’s reaction but this last just widening his eyes a couple of seconds before—before bursting out laughing. Marco clicked his tongue._

_“Sorry, I just—you didn’t lose it, Marco.”_

_To prove his statement, he lifted his wrist at eye level and showed his own wristlet. Wristlet which happened to wear Marco’s name._

_Mario kissed the bridge of his nose as Marco rested his palms on his tights. “What the fuck?” he queried softly._

_“I’m sorry, I was supposed to prevent you earlier but with everything that happened last night—he raised his eyebrows meaningfully and Marco rolled his eyes—I kind of forgot. I took yours when you showered after the game. I’ll give you mine when I won’t be lazy anymore. Who would have guessed that it would be so tiring to make love with you? Anyway, I assumed that, you know, since we’re together now, we could switch it. No matter how much you love your name, you can’t deny that mine is better. Don’t even try.”_

_“It’s okay, I just had a heart attack when I couldn’t find it last night, nothing serious. I won’t even bother to comment your last remark, though, but, just so you know, you can suck your dick by yourself for now on. You’ll scream your own name since apparently he’s better than mine.”_

_He was about to pull Mario out of him so he could pretend to be offended when the younger boy’s hands grabbed him lightly on the hip. “How about,” he began in a voice that makes Marco shiver in all the right places, “I suck your dick instead?”_

_Marco’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. He just looked at Mario’s mischievous smile and Mario’s reddened cheeks, and let the smaller boy pushed him down onto his back. He looked at him crawling forward and kneeling between his legs and there was a brief flash of tongue before his mouth trailed off the side of Marco’s mouth, down his chin, down his jaw, down his throat and his lips were teasing and wet and his tongue was lazily gliding and Mario’s hands were everywhere on him as he was grabbing Mario’s waist and tights so hard that he was probably going to bruise his skin and now his tongue was sliding down his chest, down his stomach, down and down and down and—_

_—and Marco’s skin was definitively going to be bruised but_ fuck _, Mario is a soccer player._

_A fucking football player shouldn’t be allowed to be so skilled with his fucking tongue and his fucking hands. Or his fucking teeth, he thought as they came into play._

***

_It was during the half-time of their first game against Augsburg and even though they were leading thanks to Marco, the heat had exhausted them sooner than expected. The team was getting back to the locker under Klopp’s yells, breathless and sweating, when Mario grabbed Marco’s arm and dragged him aside. Marco raised his eyebrows inquiringly but Mario smiled at him before he could say anything. Then he leaned over quickly and kissed him on the neck._

_“I’m considering about writing a card to your parents in order to thanks them for giving you birth,” he murmured against his skin, short in breath but calm, “like seriously.” He drew back slightly and eyed him fiercely. “Don’t ever doubt about how amazing you are, okay? Because you’re tremendous as a player and you are even better as a person.”_

_He kissed him near the lips this time and chuckled, grabbing his arm again. “Come on, Klopp won’t wait any longer for us.”_

***

_“So I was reading our horoscopes—"_

_“Since when,_ and why in the world _, do you read horoscopes?”_

_“—and apparently we are compatible. I mean, Gemini with Gemini. It goes like a dream.”_

_“Okay?”_

_“A Gemini home is full of laughter and friends,” Mario started to read, unconcerned about Marco’s amused look. They were both settled in Mario’s bed, surrounded by foods, The Hangover playing in the background. “Two Geminis that find a universe in the other, have tapped the fountain of youth. The love stays fresh, as there's always more to explore together. Travel is a rush, and gives Gemini a shared adventure to look forward to. The calendar, no doubt, is full, with festivals and parties, with holidays a peak time since everyone else is on their vacation wavelength.” He looked up, eyes bright. “Hey, that’s us!”_

_“Speaking of which, there’s no way we go to Ibiza again next holidays.”_

_“Oh yes, we_ do _, Reus,” he affirmed, still absorbed by his magazine. “The Twins love to toss back and forth tidbits of playful banter, sarcasm and occasional ironic cynicism—ah! this sentence was made for you—This is fun, to be sure, but may prevent one or both of the partners from taking the relationship seriously!—”_

_“—And this one for you—”_

_“—In an intimate love relationship, there is certainly a place for seriousness, which Gemini would do well to learn. If both partners can pay more attention to their feelings rather than being ruled solely by thoughts and intellect, they will greatly enhance their love experience.” Mario let escape a little “hmmm” pensively before eventually looking up at Marco. This later was updating his instagram. “Why do you mean by I don’t take our relationship seriously?”_

_Marco clicked his tongue mischievously which made Mario frowned._

_Therefore he climbed by Marco’s side and put an arm around his shoulder. “So?”_

_The number 11 chuckled. “What about drowning you?”_

_“You just keep thinking about killing me lately, I’m starting to worry about it. Seriously, it becomes disturbing. But we’ll deal with that after you answered my question.”_

_“I’ve never said that you didn’t take our relationship seriously.”_

_“Marco.”_

_“Plus, there’s no way you’re ruled_ solely _by thoughts and intellect. Not that you aren’t smart or anything but you know as me that you’re ruled by your feelings. You’re one of the most impulsive people I know.”_

_“Marco woodyinho Reus.”_

_“Alright, I was kidding, sunshine,” he laughed quietly. “It’s just what Robert would have thought and all.”_

_Mario’s frown deepened but something also saddened in his eyes. His other hand clung to Marco’s shirt without thinking. “It doesn’t make me laugh.”_

_Marco titled Mario’s face up so he could drop a soft kiss on his lips. Mario made it last a little longer before drawing apart again and watch the blond-haired one as he spoke in a gentle voice. “Really, Mario, don’t worry about that. I listen to what he says, to what they say to me, but it doesn’t mean I believe or agree with them.”_

_The younger one made an indistinct noise in his throat. “I hope so because they’re wrong, Marco. They are.”_

_“I know.” He rested his head against Mario’s cheek. “What does it say more?”_

_“Hmmm, this relationship can never be dull, which is a good thing—these two can get bored easily! Since they have the same need for intellectual stimulation and nearly-constant chatter, they serve very well as one another’s sounding boards off which to bounce new ideas and theories.”_

_“Definitively us.”_

_Mario shook his head. “Nah. We’re by far better than everything they say.”_

_“True,” he replied cheerily. “You were totally the best last night, squatting in the toilets, throwing up your guts, sobbing about never drinking alcohol again in your whole life, complaining about Klopp finding about it for sure and going to kill you.”_

_“Remember the thing about sarcasm? It was made for you and I loathe you.”_

_“You love me.”_

_“I’m changing my astrological sign. I’ll take one that doesn’t fit with yours. At all. Just so you know.”_

 

_***_

_“MARCO FUCKING REUS. YOU THOUGHT I WOULDN’T SEE IT? OH NO, DON’T ASK ME WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT SO INNOCENTLY, YOU PERFECTLY KNOW. THE THING ABOUT MARRYING ME IF I WAS A WOMAN. WHAT KIND OF ANSWER WAS THAT? HOW IN THE WORLD WOULD YOU PREFER TO SAY NOTHING? Nah because I’ll be as perfect as I am right now even if I were a woman, alright, I’ll be the hottest and you wouldn’t even have a chance with me. I’m so disappointed in you. After everything we’ve been through, after everything I’ve done for you, after everything you’ve said to me, I really believed our love was sincere. You just manipulated me and I was so in love and now my heart is_ so _shattered. I think I’m crying, yeah I’m definitively crying. WHERE ARE YOU GOING, I’M NOT FINISHED. AREN’T YOU ASHAMED? TAKE FLIGHT WHEN I’M HEART BROKEN AND WHEN YOU’RE WRONG. WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY YOU COULDN’T SAY ANYTHING ELSE. WHAT ABOUT USING YOUR BRAIN? I EXPECTED SO MUCH MORE FROM YOU. HEY, COME BACK HERE. YOU LAUGHED, HE ASKED YOU AND YOU LAUGHED AND I’M GOING TO KILL AND IT’S GOING TO BE THE END OF OUR STORY. EXACTLY AT THE MOMENT WHERE I WAS STARTING TO WRITE A BOOK ABOUT US. WOULD YOU STOP LAUGHING, I’M SERIOUS. DEAD SERIOUS. And just so you know, I was already searching for baby’s names and composing poems for you. I’m going to burn it all now. DON’T EVER TALK TO ME. I’LL FIND ANOTHER MAN WHO ISN’T ASHAMED OF ME IN PUBLIC. FAREWELL, REUS. FAR—hey but wait! I forgot to tell you about Roman!”_

***

_“Just before you put the movie on, know that my mum invites you once again to lunch. It’s getting weird, I think she might love you more than I do. I’m sorry for this."_

_“It’s okay. Since I love her more than I love you as well and that I’m just dating you with the aim of becoming a member of your family and be closer to her, I guess I can’t reproach you anything.” He clicked his tongue. “And be closer to your brothers because they’re pretty cool actually. You’re really born unlucky. How do you feel about it? Want to press charges against your parents? Or maybe they should be the ones to complain. It’s definitively not their fault if something’s wrong with you, you totally managed it on your own. Well done, you’re at least good at something.”_

_“What. The. Fuck.”_

_“I’ll buy you flowers when the movie will be over, okay. This is something that we should celebrate since I don’t believe it will happen often.”_

_“But I don’t want to watch this movie, Marco. We’ve already seen it three times.”_

_“But when did I ask for your opinion?”_

_“All that fuss just because I beat you at table tennis, you’re IMPOSSIBLE, Reus. An awful boyfriend, don’t be surprised if I drown myself in the bathtub. I hope you’ll be nicer when I’m done.”_

_Thus Mario left him a moment in order to shower and Marco took the entire sofa’s place._

_Mario scowled at him when he came back. He had a towel hanging limply around his neck and was wearing his favorite sweatpants. His naked torso was still glistening with a thin sheet of water from his shower and his hair was not dry yet. Determined to take revenge, he walked toward the sofa and jumped into it, crashing down Marco. The latter could do nothing but let escape a soft surprised noise just before Mario started to rub his soaking hair in the hollow of his neck, laughing more heartily and loudly than ever. It was probably the reason why he controlled himself and did not kill Mario with the knife that has been used to share a brownie._

_“But Götze,” Marco managed to mutter with great difficulty under Mario’s weight—the bastard was bobbing up and down on_ him _on_ purpose _—“what if one day I really end up slaying you?”_

_“Well, you’ll have to find another boyfriend and it’s not to be pretentious or anything but I’m quite difficult to replace.”_

_Marco snickered. “Not to be pretentious or anything, ah.”_

_“You know it’s not my type,” he said easily as he settled himself in a sitting position on Marco’s lying body. Then he leaned over and brushed his cheek against Marco’s. “You don’t need to when you’re perfect anyway, it shines by itself.”_

_“There are still super things called nightclub and strip club, you know.”_

_Mario looked deceptively scandalized. “So these are the first places you’ll go if we break up? You’ll forget about me with a random guy fucking you less than ten minutes in the toilets?”_

_“You know it’s not my style,” he pointed out, his hand resting on Mario’s thigh. “But that’s what you’ll do, you.”_

_He frowned. “Nah.”_

_“Mario, come on, you’ve already done it while being with Ann whereas I broke up with Caro in order to be with you. Well, it was more by mutual agreement since she believed I fell in love with another girl—which wasn’t totally wrong in her defense—but thing is, if we had to split apart, I doubt I’ll be the one hanging on nightclub. Just saying.”_

_Still leaning towards him, Mario watched him silently for such a long time and with such concern that Marco began to worry. He was about to open his mouth when the younger one got ahead of him. “You don’t seriously mean that, do you?” he queried lowly, but not enough to conceal the fact that his voice was slightly shaking._

_Marco rolled his eyes and let a smile paint his lips in order to reassure him. “Let it go. I’m not blaming you.”_

_“Nah,” he repeated nevertheless as he straightened up. “Nah, Marco, I—it took me so long to be with you and you are…how could you even think one second that I would move on so easily? Like, I know you’re kidding but—but no. I’ve made mistakes, yeah, like sleeping with other girls when I wasn’t single, and it may not be the last time I do it but you know it’s not the same for you. It’s different._ You’re _different. You’re not just a random beautiful girl that I start dating just to see where it would lead me. I’m with you now. And I mean it, I fucking mean it, it’s you and me and nothing else matters. I won’t cheat on you and I won’t run away from you.” His eyes had never been so clear, so open, so green, contrasting with the brown of his hair. His fingers fisted in Marco’s shirt, bunching the soft material in his palm. “I’m with you. And I hope I’ll be with you forever but even if we can’t, it won’t change anything for me. You’re my fucking best friend, you’re my brother, you’re my better half and you’re probably the love of my life too.” He paused just long enough to stifle an incredulous laugh which sounded more like a throttled sob and tallied with the wetness in his eyes. His voice was a little steadier though. “There’s no way in the world I could do something like that right if it happens that one day we are…not together anymore. No way. I mean, my heart is most likely going to be broken for decades and I’m not even kidding. I need you. I need you so much that it shouldn’t be allowed but I just…I just can’t lose you, Marco. Never. You turned my whole world around and it’s like I’m searching for you in every person I meet. But there’s no one like you and there’s no one who will ever be able to make me feel the way you do. You’re a part of me and you will always be and I can’t lose that. I can’t lose you and I won’t.”_

_“No, you won’t,” Marco whispered almost instantaneously, barely able to tear his eyes from Mario’s. “I would never allow it anyway.”_

_Mario nodded, leaning over once again. If he still looked fragile, he was wearing his soft, usual smile now. “Good. Because I’m going to cling by your side until you eventually decide to kill me, you know.” He buried his face in Marco’s neck, smiling even wider at the sound of his chuckle, then pulled back when Marco muttered his name softly. They looked at each other silently for such a long time that the world seemed to stop at some point. And perhaps it did. Shaking his head because he could not help it, Mario put his hands around Marco’s neck and kissed him, firm and deep._

_Curling his fingers into Mario’s short hair, Marco kissed him back._

***

 

_A smile made its way across Marco’s lips as Mario stepped out of the bathroom. “Nice shirt,” he stated mischievously._

_Mario raised his eyebrows playfully. “Well, you know the why and the how.”_

_“Yeah.” He clicked his tongue, straightening up a bit against the pillows of the couch and never taking his eyes off Mario. “I remember.” And, indeed, he remembered how they had spent the night together—debating about which one was the most handsome, struggling over the last coconut ice scream, classifying the guys of the team from the dumbest to the King, debating about which one was the smartest, playing at Buzz and acting like little kids, fighting over the last Coca-Cola can, and debating about which one was the nicest, among others. He remembered how they had ended falling asleep after having sex twice and he remembered how they had woken up by having sex twice. He remembered, oh perfectly well, how Mario had kissed him senseless and had cleared off to take a shower before Marco’s mouth could be pressed against anything but his lips, he remembered how he had laughed when Mario had stumbled, cheeks flushed and hands shaking, not even thinking about gathering some clothes before leaving. He remembered how he had jumped into the couch, turning the TV on, waiting for his boyfriend to come out the bathroom merely covered by his towel._

_Except that Mario was actually wearing the jersey in which Marco had played yesterday._

_When he turned his back to him in order to take a cup of coffee, Marco looked at the four letters in his back, at the REUS, following every movements made by his body. He bit his bottom lip. “You do know that it was near the washing machine for a reason, right?”_

_Mario just turned around and smiled his lopsided, playful grin. “I know,” he said lightly as he filled his coffee with three sugars. “But, believe it or not, I even like your scent when it’s all sweaty.”_

_Marco wrinkled his nose and hugged a pillow against his chest. “Speaking of which,” he carried on softly, looking straight in Mario’s eyes and fighting down a smile. “Ho vinto, Götzinho.”_

_“Going off the rails because I complimented you? How predictable was that. I’m sorry to disappoint you but I was just making my good deed of the day by being amicable to you. Just tell me if you can’t handle my kindness and I’ll stop. I know that you’re still upset about me being the nicest of us but come on, I thought we had agreed on it once and for all.” He sipped his coffee nonchalantly as he walked towards him. “What does it mean, anyway?”_

_He held out his hand to Mario. “That I won.”_

_Mario raised his eyebrows curiously and put his cup on the coffee table before clasping Marco’s hand. Then he let himself be pulled on Marco’s laps. Mario dropped a lazy kiss on his lips. “And what have the great, big Marco Reus won?”_

_“Your love?”_

_The smaller boy laughed softly against his face. “Definitively going off the rails,” he said fondly._

_“Nah,” Marco replied as his fingers began to slide down Mario’s bare thighs absentmindedly. “Remember the day where we were having a bet about which one of us would crack first for the other? Well, you did and I told I would speak Italian to you when it would happen. So here we are, amore.”_

_Mario looked at him pensively for a brief moment then opened his mouth in realization. “Oh my god.”_

_“I know right,” Marco went on cheerfully. “I knew you couldn’t resist me, anyway. So, ho vinto. I deserved another gift.”_

_The midfielder titled his head, grinning. “You know what, usually I think I would just have been offended by what you just said—cause, look at it, you seriously implied that my love wasn’t enough for you, Reus—but you must be lucky after all. I’m feeling nice today. So yeah, why not?” He raised his eyebrows mischievously and Marco could not say anything before Mario’s lips crashed against his own in a wet, lip-bruising kiss which made him shiver instantaneously._

_The kiss deepened and Mario pressed more insistently against Marco’s lips, making him gasp and wriggle slightly underneath him. His hands cupped his jaw and his lips nipped his bottom lip and Marco could not help but breath out his name breathlessly and put his arms around him, pulling him down as much as he could, wrapping his legs around his waist, asking for more. Mario huffed a soft laugh against his lips before kissing him open-mouthed, his breathing deepening as he slid his tongue inside his mouth._

_Marco moaned as Mario’s hands started stroking his nipple and he pulled his head deep into the armrest, breathe short and heavy. He bit his lower lip hard enough to make it bleed when Mario leaned down, pressing his wet lips all along his stomach, sucking and licking on hot sick before moving back up and pulling Marco’s shirt over his head by the hem at the back of his neck. The movement messed up his hair and Mario paused a couple of seconds to look at the way his boyfriend’s hair stood up all over the place. Marco held on his gaze, eyes sparkling. “I don’t want anything else,” he whispered, leaning in to kiss him gently. “I’m lucky to have you.”_

_“I’m lucky to have you as well,” Mario answered astronglmost immediately, voice semmall. “The luc/emkiest.”_

_“I know right,” Marco smiled just before the younger boy leaned down on him again, mouth sucking his collarbone as his right hand started creeping through his boxer furtively. “God, Mario, I—” he choked but Mario just swallowed his words with his mouth, skimming his hands down Marco’s torso and down his thighs, stroking and gripping and squashing and Marco’s nails sank automatically into Mario’s smooth thigh._

_“Mario,” he breathed when he eventually let go of his lips, hoarse and hard. “We can’t have sex. We’re supposed to—oh dear God—meet André in less than thirty minutes.”_

_“And how do you say “it’s not my problem” in Italian?” he queried merrily as he suddenly wrapped his fingers around Marco’s dick and pumped his hand once, twice, and, wow, he just grabbed the couch and slammed his eyes shut._

 

***

 

Life would not be what it was if everything did not fall apart at some point, though. And obviously, that was when everything felt—was—perfect that the storm had to come down on them. That was when Dortmund felt like his home more than any other place before, when he was in love with the club and the fans and the stadium and the town and the team, that was when he could totally picture himself playing here all his life, that was when life seemed more beautiful and enjoyable than ever, that was when he was so close to Mario that they could probably form one single person—yeah, that was at this moment that it all fell apart.

And Jesus, it crushed him.

 

*******

 

It was merely evidential—and mostly fair—to forestall Marco first about his departure even though he knew that it was probably going to be the hardest thing he has ever done. Although announce it personally to Klopp and the rest of the staff had been the worst he has ever done (and he wished he could just erase this from his memory because _Jesus_ ), it would never be the same thing. It would never be Marco and the way his bright blue eyes always seemed to make him drown both in happiness and desperation, it would never be Marco and the way his futures reactions—disappointment and confusion and betrayal perhaps—would tear him apart. At least, he thought as he was searching for him, he deserved it. He knew the other players would not be as reasonable as Mario could be.

He found him hallway in one of the stadium’s corridors, whistling _as long as you love me_. Marco smiled at him.

“I need to talk to you,” he barely whispered, taking his hand and dragging him towards the field. Marco did not say a thing as he let himself be pulled. 

The night had finally fallen after a blustery, misty day where a downpour had trashed the city all day long. The temperatures were kind of warm compared to earlier though. The moonlight was faintly gleaming off as numerous stars were flickering above them, lighting up the pitch and the tiers, some of them so bright that they looked like little holes in the floor of heaven. A soft, dampy breeze was brushing against their skin and Mario broke off an instant to breathe the familiar smell of the grass and feel Marco’s hand in his, the nodded at this tiers. Still quiet, wearing his black cap upside down, Marco sat next to him.

It has become hard to breathe. Mario’s heart was beating so loudly than he could not even hear his owns thoughts anymore (and they had been pretty noise these past days). Yet he stopped instantaneously when he met Marco’s fond eyes. That warm-hearted, affectionate gaze that he was the only one to be covered with. God, he was going to be sick. Swallowing with difficulty and concealing his hands behind his back so maybe they would agree to stop shaking, he closed his eyes briefly, fighting down the urge to throw up. The idea of giving up had not been that tempting since he had made his decision, had not seemed that _right_. He could perfectly picture himself playing here next season, still dressed in black and yellow. Alongside Marco. Would not it work, would not it be perfect? His heart was beating so damn _fast_. He was going to die of a heart attack and Marco would never learn what he had done. And was he even capable of doing that? He had known it would not be easy but right now, it rater felt impossible.              

“Mario?”

Marco’s voice, as soft and gentle as usual, was what brought him back to earth. Unclosing his eyes, he peered into his face—from his clear bright eyes to his teeth gnawing unknowingly his lower lip. Marco had put a hand on his knee and was now enough worried to frown faintly. In spite of himself, Mario smiled. He loved him so much that it should not have been allowed. It was not _fair_ to the rest of the world. God, he was going to miss him so badly, more than the worlds could ever express it accurately. But he has to do it, he has to say it. He had made his decision and there was no turning back possible.

And he had fallen asleep so many nights wondering how he could possibly announce his resolution to him. Confronted to it, though, all this time felt useless. There was just no good way to break the new.

“Marco, I’m…I’m leaving next year.”

It did not matter if he had whispered the words because he knew Marco had heard. He also knew that Marco would not realized how strained the situation was until he actually learn _where_ he was leaving. Marco, among everyone else, would have completely understood and respected his decision to leave Dortmund. As long as it was not for the enemy.

“Oh,” he breathed, an understandable hint of astonishment in his voice. “Okay, then.” He looked up, still a little caught off guard but slightly playful. “Going to help Arsenal eventually winning the Championship?”

And that what it took to break his heart and made his want to fucking burst into tears. Of course Marco would have understood so easily, of course Marco would have been able to fucking _joke about it_ and fucking _tease him_ with his bright green eyes and his endearing smile and his soft voice and his stupid hair and his fucking _dimples_ always fucking _adorable_. Of course Marco would react this way because Marco was fucking _perfect_. The worst was, no matter how much it was hurting _him_ right now, he knew it was nothing compared to what Marco will feel in few seconds. And that—

“Hey, you can tell me if you’re leaving for Barcelona. I’ll protect you from Mats.”

“Marco,” he murmured weakly, “it’s not Barcelona.”

He closed his eyes painfully an instant to pick up his courage and try to breathe normally but it was a waste of time. He did not even remember the last time he had felt that bad. But if he has to do this, he was a least going to it properly. Marco deserved it.

“Marco,” he tempted again, somehow relieved to find his voice much firmer. “You’re not going to like it.”

“Well, I didn’t like it when you stole my ice-cream and I still forgave you so go ahead.”

So he avowed it the quickest possible. “It’s Bayern.”

“Hm? No. No, I know they suck and that half of the bad things happen because of them but you’re the one who stole it, Mario, believe me, I watched you ate it with a broken heart.”

Mario looked at him solemnly, torn between thanking him for existing and being the only person in the world able to make him want to burst out laughing when his heart was going to explode, hitting him for breaking the mood or ignoring these two feelings and keep doing what he was trying to do.

Guessing the last option was the best, he breathed in deeply and swallowed.

“Marco,” he said sluggishly. “Stop joking if you don’t want to die. I’m leaving. I’m leaving for Bayern.”

And, as expected, Marco sank in front of him. He let escape a faint, painful noise and Mario forced himself not to look away no matter what he was seeing and how he was shivering. No matter how much it will hurt, he has to watch. Thus, he observed him carefully, his heart beating like a madman. He observed how his smile faded away and how his eyes suddenly lost their brightness, how he tried to speak but could not make a sound. He observed every subtle change, every little emotion in his gaze until Marco eventually dropped his eyes, chewing his lips. Then he focused on the way his hand was clutching at his tracksuit like it was the only thing keeping him still. And maybe it was. The pain got through Mario’s chest as fast and quick as a lightning and he really tried not to _have_ a heart attack. But Marco had always done a fucking good job at taking great care of concealing his emotions and, of course, he was doing it right now. Trying to remain as untouchable and neutral as possible not to hurt him. Trying not to say anything, not to show anything that could upset him. Trying to act like the fucking amazing friend he was. God only knew what was going on in his mind, what he was _thinking_ and _feeling_ and not having a clue about it made Mario want to scream. The pain in his chest was unbearable, the way Marco had dropped his head was unbearable and _god_ , he needed to pull everything _away_. He could not take it. Especially when Marco sighed softly and looked up again, eyes more brittle and vulnerable that he has ever seen them in a very, very long time.

“For Bayern?” he repeated finally in a small voice.

He nodded in approval. “For Bayern.”

Marco breathed as deeply as _he_ has done before telling him. “Wow. Indeed, I…don’t like it,” he replied with a faint smile.

Mario rolled his eyes and pulled him in a tight embrace, his hands grabbing his shirt for dear life. Marco held him immediately as tight, burying his head in his shoulder, making another soft noise that Mario did not tried to analyze. He would need to deal with his emotions before asking him for an explanation, which was natural, and he will just keep hugging him like there were no tomorrow until he was ready. He did not really know what to expect, although he was pretty sure Marco would not lost it all. He had prayed for, in any case. Many times, he had tried to switch their positions and imagine how he would have taken it, if Marco had done such thing. He will just have to hope he would not react the same way (and how selfish was it to something from someone when he would not have been able to do it himself?)

But Marco had always been calmer. Stronger, also. That is why it did not surprise him when he pulled away from him sooner than he would have expected from anyone else, sooner than he would have.

Marco stayed close to him however, backing down just enough to look straight in his eyes. A hand clasping around Mario’s forearm, he opened his mouth slowly. “Why?” he queried, uncertain.

Mario shook his head. Marco might not like his answer but he had promised to tell him the truth. That was the least he could do. He breathed. “Two mains reasons, I guess, though one would not have mattered that much if it wasn’t for the first one. I mean, I would have leave eventually, because I just can’t stay here anymore, Marco. I…I want more. And, don’t misunderstand me, being here is fucking great. The guys are awesome—and so are the fans—and Klopp is…Klopp is perfect but that’s the problem. We’re a family. This club is a fucking family.”

“You’re afraid to always be treated as a kid if you stay here?” Marco broke in mindfully, so _correct_ that it left Mario stunned a moment.

“Yeah,” he agreed softly with a note of relive, one of his hands resting on Marco’s thigh, the other stroking his wrist absentmindedly. “I know how much Klopp loves us. He can be one of the most professional coach in the world, he still treat us as his sons. Everyone is kind of comfortable with everyone else here. And I find that amazing, I really do, but that’s something that will never change. No matter what I’ll do, I’ll be considered as the younger one, as the kid of the team. I had always been the little brother. I’ll never be the future of football here but Mario, the kid that everyone had to drive everywhere because I wasn’t old enough to do it by myself. I’ll be the little chubby one, I’ll be the one to protect from the press, from the world. And it means something to me, for sure, I’m thankful for everything this club has done for me but—I want more, Marco, I want so much more. I want to be scolded when I play badly and meet disappointed looks instead of being hugged, being understood and _forgiven_ because they know I’m capable of better. I want to fight, I want to be challenged, I want to learn. I want to be the best.”

He stopped a moment to look thoroughly at Marco and get his breath back. His face was unreadable nevertheless, completely focused on him, his eyes huge and the green almost transparent, the hold on his forearm twice as strong. Mario lifted his hand to caress Marco’s cheek then went on. “I could have waited, though. I had that thought in mind, that I’ll leave someday in order to grow up as a player but it has never been for today. I wouldn’t have been ready to leave my family and say goodbye to all of this,” he admitted, his eyes lingering on the stadium. “This is my home. I’m still too young to move country and everything. And I knew Bayern fancied me for quite a time, Klopp told me so, but honestly, at this moment, it didn’t care at all. I just shrugged off the offers even though it was flattering, even though I knew I would have a better chance to shine there. But then—things changed.”

Something died out in Marco’s eyes. “Guardiola, I suppose?”

He nodded in approval once again. “You, better than anyone, know how much I admire him. He’s just—he’s incredible. He’s the best coach in the world. And that guy wants me. Pep Guardiola fucking called me, fucking met me, told me I was sensational, that I was predestined to make things big, that he could help me become one of the best. He told me all kind of things and we talked and talked and I fucking love what he has prepared for me. It’s not about going to Bayern. It’s not about becoming a Bavarian or not loving enough Dortmund. It’s all about me working with Pep Guardiola. It’s just…a life time chance, you know. He’s going to make me shine and I didn’t know how not to accept such offer.”

He shook his head for the thousandth time, somewhere smiling, and pressed his hand harder against Marco’s cheek.

“I know the biggest blow is going to be me leaving _there_ when I could have gone anywhere else. But anywhere else hasn’t Pep Guardiola as coach. At least, I’ll stay close to home, to my family and to my friends. I know—I know it’s going to change me. Playing there, I mean. I know it’s going to be different and difficult but it’s a good thing. I know they won’t do thing by halves. I’ll have to fight, to deserve my place, I’ll have to make Guardiola proud, I’ll have to work harder to be accepted by the fans and the other players. I’ll have to be the best in order not to regret my decision. In order to prove you guys that it wasn’t a mistake, that I just took my chance. I won’t have that warm family around me anymore, I’ll focus exclusively on football, on my way of playing, on my weaknesses. I—I need to do it now, Marco, before it’s become too late, before I can’t anymore, before I can’t picture myself anywhere else. I need to do it as long as I can, as I want to.”

He breathed in again. His heart was pounding. There was something quite new in Marco’s gaze but, since he could not nailed it down, he just kept watching him lest to miss something. He felt relieved. It had made him more uneasy and guilty not to tell the truth to Marco than he would have thought. It had literally eaten him alive. He had hated every seconds where he had to look straight in his eyes and smile like nothing was going on in his back. It had been worst, not being able to have his advices and his support. It would have been everything he had needed during his moments of doubts. It had made things even more complicated, yes, almost impossible, to make this decision without telling it, speaking about it with Marco beforehand.

But he had guessed what Marco would have said at the beginning. He had guessed how he would have tried to make him stay, how it would perhaps had worked when he was not so sure, when his hopes were still fragile. He had seen coming, as well, would just have sank and shattered—like right now—in front of Marco. That was something he could not have afforded, thus he had kept his mouth quiet. It had been safer. Now, however, he could feel relief running through his veins, he could feel his heart beating more easily, he could feel his breathing evens out. He was not fine either, of course, and the pain was still frightening and aching but at least, he has an easy conscience from now on. It was better than nothing in his case.

The look in Mario’s eyes saddened. When he spoke, his voice was brittle, soft-spoken. Mario’s heart burnt.

“There’s nothing I could do to change your mind, right?”

“I—” he started, wanting more than anything to just wash away the misery, the sorrow, the suffering in his voice. “Marco,” he whispered then, resting his palms against his cheeks tenderly. “I know you don’t—I don’t expect you to support or understand me right away. Or ever, for a matter of fact. I didn’t break it to you sooner because, you more than anyone else, could have made me want to stay. You are…I didn’t have the strength to fight against you and I was aware of that. I’m sorry. I’m sorry and I don’t want to leave you and I wish we could have played together all our life and…and I hate it also, you know, there’s a part of me who can’t stand the thought of playing under Bayern’s colors next season. I’m still trying to override the disgust and the sickness of it. I just—I made my decision. So yes, there’s nothing you could do.” He bit his lower lip and kissed him on the nose. “You’re my best friend,” he murmured, forehead against forehead. “Nothing will ever, ever change that. No matter where I play, no matter whom I hug during the celebrations, no matter whom I train with everyday. Nothing. I swear it. What we have is far beyond football. I just have to do this, you know?”

Marco nodded weakly and Mario let his hands slip from his cheeks to his neck, then they stayed in this position for a brief moment, both eyes-closed, both thinking too much and not enough at this moment. There was no sound beside their beating hearts now that the breeze had died down. Just the smell of the damp grass, just the warmth of Marco’s skin. Just the stars watching them, soothing and well-wishing before the start of the storm.

Because it was what was going to happen now. Marco shook his head. “You should tell the guys tonight as well.”

Mario curved an eyebrow, his thumb playing softly with Marco’s jaw. “Should I?”

“Yeah. At least it’ll be done.”

The number 10 remained quiet a moment, his eyes never moving away from Marco’s face. Or what he could see, considering he had dropped his head again. He passed his arms around his waist. “Alright. I’ll just have to warn Klopp first.” Marco nodded and Mario completely leaned towards him. “Thank you,” he breathed in his ear and Marco just pressed a kiss in the nape of his neck, “thank you so much.” They straightened up after that, heading towards the locker room.

Marco put an arm around Mario’s shoulders and they turned their backs to the stadium. And if somewhere it felt like an end, it was only the beginning.

***

 

Mario told the guys right after—Klopp had not been long to find and had agreed to the idea, face tight—but Marco didn’t follow them. He couldn’t. He had fought down the urge to cry throughout Mario’s announcement in every possible way but he couldn’t anymore. Therefore, in the middle of the corridor, back against the wall, fists clenched, Mario’s voice echoing not so far away, he was crying like a kid. But he couldn’t help it and somewhere it seemed to help a little bit—at least he could pretend not to feel his bones burning and his heart being ripped apart—so he did not try to dry off his tears. He just slapped his head against the wall several times, weeping more and more, doing his best not to listen to Klopp’s voice—because apparently someone had said something uncalled-for—doing his best not to fall apart immediately.

It will happen, eventually, but now he had to be strong—for himself, and for Mario.

Thus, he just kept crying his heart out until Klopp came to him. If he seemed pretty pissed off while walking towards him, his wrath vanished as soon as his eyes settled on him. Klopp appearingly wished to exchange some words with some players in his office and, of course, he was one of them. He waited for Marco to calm down and brush aside his tears, before taking his arm and pulling him along softly. Marco just tried to breathe as well as he could, barely noticing the players already gathered here, fighting the urge to throw up when he managed—and God only knows how—to twitch his lips in a smile.

It hurt too much to be able to focus on Klopp’s voice.

 

***

 

He does not sleep that night—he does not even try. He is not even sure how he managed to come home without embedding his car in a tree but anyway it turns out that he isn’t the only one to be paralyzed by the new. Kevin creates a chat group on whatsapp and spends the night exchanging messages with Mats, Robert, Moritz, Leo and Nuri. Marco is added to the conversation, of course, but he cannot even read what they are saying. He didn’t even have the strength to open the damn thing. He lets the notifications light up his phone and, at some point in the night, he imagines how the discussion is going. He can feel them struggling about Mario’s issue, about what Klopp has told them in his office. He can read Mats’ sarcastic remarks, can relate to Kevin’s deception and incomprehension, can hear Nuri’s silence, can understand Leo’s wrath and Moritz’s different points of view about the thing—understanding but still disappointed—and can see how Robert is trying to be diplomatic and cautious about it because, hey, he is aware that Robert has always had a thing for Bayern too.

He can guess all of it and perhaps it helps them to keep turning over it—it makes them accept the new, probably—but he just can’t take a part in it. His brain is focused on Mario and Mario’s departure and Mario’s words and the pain in his chest and the pain in his bones and the pain in his muscles and the pain in his heart and Mario’s words and Mario’s departure and on Mario once again and he just can’t. Thanks to their conversation he knows he is not alone in it—even if, somehow, he is—and it is enough for him tonight. Soft words and shared opinions won’t change anything for the moment.

And how ironic is it that, at this moment, the only person he needs to get better is the one he will no longer have.

 

***

 

He does not sleep for the three following days and when he finally manages to, he wishes he had not. That night, he wakes up drenched in cold sweat, his hair plastered to his forehead, his heart beating like a madman. Breathing is hard and he wonders, somewhere in his mind, if dying is really worse than having such a nightmare again. He straightens up, nevertheless, his back against the headboard of his bed, his palms sweaty and his eyes burning. He realizes then that tears are sliding down his face, warm and salty, and even if he really wants not to cry, he cannot stop them. It’s almost comforting, almost peaceful, to be left alone in the silence with no one to riddle each of his emotions. The tightness in his chest, due to the suffering, however, does not let him forget that comfort and calm are only delusions.

He closes his eyes, wiping his tears with the back of his hands, and tries to breathe. His dream is not fading away, though, and he still sees Mario, smiling as brightly as usual, all dressed in red, be hugged by Toni whereas yellow silhouettes collapse to the ground. He still sees him raise the cup with Lahm, still sees him celebrating his first Champions League with Bayern. Marco waits until the images disappear to merely remain a shadow in his mind and he starts repeating to himself that it is just a nightmare, it fucking is, that the game is not for now yet, that Mario is still with them—will still be with them during the game and that, even if he cannot play, he will still stand for Dortmund with his heart because his fucking heart will always be here. He repeats it so many times that he could almost believe it.

 

***

 

He learns that each reveille is harder than the previous and that sleepless nights are impossible to ignore at some point.  

“You look washed out.”

“It’s nothing,” he smiles faintly, waving his hand. “Just…a nightmare.”

Robert pulls him in a tight hug. “Mario again?” he quizzes in his hear, then sighs when Marco nods in his shoulder. “Well if it reassures you, I’ve had one as well.”

Marco makes a muffled noise. “Mario was leaving in yours?” he almost quips. 

Robert lets a slight laugh escape his lips and tightens his embrace. Marco had totally melted in his arms, too exhausted to even try to fight back. “Yeah. I didn’t like the way it affected a certain fair-haired boy.” 

“Hmmm." His next words are so softly spoken that Robert barely hears them. “Thank you, Robert.”

“You’re welcome, blondie,” he whispers. 

 

***

 

The world stops to turn when he is with Mario, though, and it makes all the difference between what he feels and what people would like him to feel. It does not matter how much sleep he gets once he has cried himself to sleep, how hard it is not to let his nightmares bring him down, how painful and exhausting it is to talk so openly about Mario to the press—it still feels like an opened but secret wound most of the time. The world stops when they are together, like it has always did, and it’s enough. Mario is still with them for the moment thus Marco cannot think about anything else. Seriously, his breath is taking away everytime his eyes settle on Mario. It does not matter, if really does not, because Mario is looking back at him, smiling mischievously, eyes bright and green. Marco breathes and does not think about the future. 

He does not think about the next nights, he does not think about the pain. He does not think about the fact that his last games played alongside Mario are closer than he reckon. He certainly does not think about them losing the Champions League, about how he will react, about the words that will escape in spite of himself—or not. No, he does not think about sentences like “perhaps we shouldn’t ever talk again,” or “God, I don’t wanna lose you,” or “I knew you were going to give up at some point.” He does not think about it, does not think about words like “Fine, I don’t need you anyway,” or “I can’t believe you’re doing this to me,” or “You fucking know I’ll never cease to love you.” He does not because he cannot. He cannot imagine that the only positive thing that will emerge from this defeat will be Mats and Moritz getting in touch again and he cannot imagine how sad and ironic it will be when Moritz will leave the club a few weeks after. He cannot imagine how strained his relationship with Mario will get, cannot picture himself being alone the day of his birthday because he had not had the strength yet to join his teammates to Ibiza. He cannot imagine not being able to bear Mario’s proximity or Mario’s hands on his skin, cannot imagine how difficult and still how easy it will be to stay away from him. So he does not think about how much he will hate himself, about his throat aching everytime he will meet Mario’s eyes or about the suffering. He does not think about how relieved he will feel when he will be able to hug him again, about how bad he needed him back, about how simple it will be to love him as before and even more.

He is aware of how much it is going to hurt. He knows the pain will have to break his bones if he wants to heal. He knows the pain will have to be aching and burning and agonizing in his heart if he wants to be fixed one day. But, more than anything, he cannot think about letting him go, about watching him drift away inexorably, about losing him, about being scared and hurt, about his heart clenching painfully at the sight of the logo of the team, too colorful in a world that has gone off. He cannot think of it because, at this moment, he is sure he could deal with any kind of pain that will come. Honestly. He knows he can because he already fights against the panic attacks, the agony and the tears every fucking day. He already feels like _dying_. But Mario is smiling, laughing as loudly and heartily as before, and nothing else matters. It’s not fair, it’s not fair at all, but Mario leans over him and squeezes his hands and it feels right. He knows the future is going to be rough, but he cannot do anything but let Mario intertwined their fingers.

He cannot let go.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

***

 

He did not think of it at this moment but four months later, when everything and more had happened, he does. Mario is playing his first game under Bayern colors and Guardiola is cheering for him after his very first goal and half of the team is suffocating him under embraces and when the camera finally manages to zoom exclusively on his face, Marco sees him smile. He is smiling, bright and wide, and it does not feel like something new. It does not and that’s how Marco knows.

It’s a warm, sunny day, with a sky lacking in clouds and they had just reached the finish line. He still loves Mario and Mario still loves him and they are still friends and they are still in love but he cannot pretend any more than nothing has changed between them. He cannot pretend any more that Mario has not left. Because he did and it does not matter if it took four months to his heart to realize it, he still did. Things are different now and perhaps they’ll get worse, perhaps they’ll get better but it does not matter because Mario is playing elsewhere.

Marco watches him start to run again, his shoulder pressed against Kevin’s, then looks down at his wristlet. He expects the usual sadness to submerge him but there are too many contradictory emotions that flow through him and not enough words and suddenly it hurts like it had not hurt in months—burn, ache, and it hurts and hurts and hurts—but it’s okay because he knows why. He can feel it—can feel his heart assimilating the thing—can feel his heart letting go. His heart is saying goodbye.

It’s the time to mourn. Finally.

And Marco smiles, he smiles because he understands now and it feels good even if it hurts so much, it feels good and he feels relieved, he feels calm. His eyes are full of tears when he looks up one more time, camera following Mario and Alcantara as the final whistling is blown. It feels right. _Things change. And friends leave. Life doesn’t stop for anybody._

And, this time, he’s fine with that.

 _Goodbye_ , Mario.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> (la meuf qui a pas pu résister à la tentation de parler de moritz &mats c'est moi yes) (mais personnellement je prends la photo que moritz a posté comme un signe) (jspr que tu le prends comme un cadeau d'anniversaire because IT WAS MAÏNA) (and i kinda want to get lost in the forest with marco and mario but it's another thing okay) (HOPE YOU LIKE IT IF YOU DON'T IT'S OKAY I'LL JUST THROW MYSELF UNDER YOUR DAD'S CAR) (histoire de bien te faire chier jusqu'au bout oui) (love coeur confettis colle to heal your heart if needed HAPPY BIRTHDAY AGAIN♥)


End file.
